let's all move on, fight through smog.
a deformed letter of complaints that no one will read might be worth it;
at least you had initiative once in your life.
there's no use in fucking around, who needs a use when you have no purpose.
a smile from a pedophile is all you need to achieve sexual fulfillment.
a letterbox, a stop sign.
a picture of a psychotic lover under your pillow, a belt with no buckle.
a bucket with no handle, a door with no hinges.
love. pushing you on and tearing you apart simultaneously, cliche.
i believe in you as much as i believe in the tooth fairy.
safety tips, or a nudge in the right direction.
pensieve mastication and lighting up banknotes.
chord, strangle, force.
if i throw you does that mean you'll fall back together.
insane in the membrane.
a cactus.
picture of shampoo.
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Comments
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music: [link]
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music: [link]
i like bits of it, but i feel that it's trying to grab everything and paste it into one nice paper ball.
x3 but hey, that's jus' me.
not much of an expert on surrealism, but
o_o' i wonder what one of such high thoughts would think of my d.gray'd poem. x3
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Evasive boredom gets the best of us procastinating fuckers.
There shouldn't be a reason in order to interact with someone, other than that you can.
Do not fear affecting someone's life, the only person to blame is the one who can't handle love.
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