i feel as if there's some sort of gag, bitter and black, shoved in the mouth of what creativity i was previously able to draw upon. if i knew the how and why of it i'd certainly spare little time getting it fixed.
so, for the time being i'll just use pretty pictures and ripped lyrics in lieu of what i've seem to have, for the moment, lost.
so, for the time being i'll just use pretty pictures and ripped lyrics in lieu of what i've seem to have, for the moment, lost.

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If writing was easy, there wouldn't be 8 billion trillion shitty books, magazines, and lyrics all around us.