i saw beauty crushed last night, dragged through broken glass, destroyed by the deadly velocity of her chosen lifestyle.
she used to be such a pretty girl, bee-yoo-tee-full, a dead-ringer for kate from drew carey, only spunkier, more street... when i first met her she was still a virgin, the kind of girl that you knew someone was just gonna snatch up. she was at an annoying stage, sure, but she was the kind of girl who's inherent loveliness could outweigh her obvious quirks. there's no way i was the only one who felt this way about her... she pissed off her friends on purpose and i liked her instantly in that big brother sort of way. she was a stoned-out teenage girl, with nothing in particular on her mind... she was quick with her fists and her wit was as sharp as it could be.
i saw her again about 6 months later... she had since discovered sex, losing her virginity to a guy and a girl at the same time. things were spinning faster, and she was begining to notice that she had a way with men. her blossoming body was being used to get whatever it was that she wanted; it was a weapon, a preferred form of execution. she tested me right away, licking her lips, shaking her tits, asking me if she could have my belt buckle, like i was the kind of guy who freely gave away his personal trinkets to pretty girls. i drew the line, and she never crossed it... she had moved on to harder, more exciting drugs, more stoned, numbing herself from any emotional ties to the world.
she was getting in fights, proving her worth, staking her turf... she was using her body to get drugs from the men who would use her body, and she didn't mind. she was getting what she wanted, she was happy. she had the best cocaine ever, she said... she said she knew all the ectasy was making her stupid, shedding ideas and inhibitions like frat-house brain cells. she was starting to fuck up, a real self-destructor, living for the moment, young, dumb, and full of cum.
she's knocked-up now, and she suspects the guy got her pregnant on purpose... she's a kept woman, and she's still not 20 years old, with her bigger cages and longer chains. her body is still a weapon, but it's blades aren't as sharp as they used to be... she did a lot of living in a year and a half, and it shows. the scars and lines make her look harder, her pock marks the proof of her experience. she's looks rough, and she's been riding too close to the sun for far too long. it takes a moment to notice the innocence and youth is missing from her face, to realize that this was the girl who could have had everything. she rambles on with a nervous laugh, she can't stay focused. she's trying to impress you with her gangsta lifestyle, but instead she's food stamp fresh... you'd think she was just another desert burnout, an american casualty, a leathery creature who just wasn't strong enough after all.
-bobby
she used to be such a pretty girl, bee-yoo-tee-full, a dead-ringer for kate from drew carey, only spunkier, more street... when i first met her she was still a virgin, the kind of girl that you knew someone was just gonna snatch up. she was at an annoying stage, sure, but she was the kind of girl who's inherent loveliness could outweigh her obvious quirks. there's no way i was the only one who felt this way about her... she pissed off her friends on purpose and i liked her instantly in that big brother sort of way. she was a stoned-out teenage girl, with nothing in particular on her mind... she was quick with her fists and her wit was as sharp as it could be.
i saw her again about 6 months later... she had since discovered sex, losing her virginity to a guy and a girl at the same time. things were spinning faster, and she was begining to notice that she had a way with men. her blossoming body was being used to get whatever it was that she wanted; it was a weapon, a preferred form of execution. she tested me right away, licking her lips, shaking her tits, asking me if she could have my belt buckle, like i was the kind of guy who freely gave away his personal trinkets to pretty girls. i drew the line, and she never crossed it... she had moved on to harder, more exciting drugs, more stoned, numbing herself from any emotional ties to the world.
she was getting in fights, proving her worth, staking her turf... she was using her body to get drugs from the men who would use her body, and she didn't mind. she was getting what she wanted, she was happy. she had the best cocaine ever, she said... she said she knew all the ectasy was making her stupid, shedding ideas and inhibitions like frat-house brain cells. she was starting to fuck up, a real self-destructor, living for the moment, young, dumb, and full of cum.
she's knocked-up now, and she suspects the guy got her pregnant on purpose... she's a kept woman, and she's still not 20 years old, with her bigger cages and longer chains. her body is still a weapon, but it's blades aren't as sharp as they used to be... she did a lot of living in a year and a half, and it shows. the scars and lines make her look harder, her pock marks the proof of her experience. she's looks rough, and she's been riding too close to the sun for far too long. it takes a moment to notice the innocence and youth is missing from her face, to realize that this was the girl who could have had everything. she rambles on with a nervous laugh, she can't stay focused. she's trying to impress you with her gangsta lifestyle, but instead she's food stamp fresh... you'd think she was just another desert burnout, an american casualty, a leathery creature who just wasn't strong enough after all.
-bobby
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Keep it up, Bobby.