“Some say love is not for sinners...”
Scabs and scars frolic over my body in a playful mosaic of story.
(There’s an itch I’m dying to scratch)
Anything to make you happier.
There is a list a mile long of things I ought to be oughting about, but the Selfish Side of my Soul is spreading kerosene across my Better Judgement. Then she’ll flick the stub of her cigarette onto the fuel, because that’s how she gets off.
Vegan marshmallows.
“... you know the thing about chaos? It’s fair.”
“I can’t find myself”
The Protagonist.
I suppose not all is lost (that just means I have further down to go).
What can I do to polish the shoes? I scrub, and I scrub, but they lack the luster of a good pair of shoes. And no matter what I do to polish them perfect, it’s never enough.
-- and (laugh more softly).
“But I could have told you Vincent...”
How many women wear their worst nightmares underneath their shirts, below their chests - probably enough to make me sick.
“I was nine years old when I first thought I was fat”
 |
| "Everyone in the end is a sort of walking compromise" |
(Antigone)
...dirty rotten pig stealing...
