snow

it really is about the knife sex. i want one dirty motel room, orange shag carpet, a bottle of jack, one knife.

fucking worm. fucking virus. fucking computer. fucking laziness. i will get around to fixing it tonight, so that i can spend every waking moment on the internet. staring at you.

i'm at that point where i "feel" happy. i don't know if it is true or not. i don't know how long it will stay. have you heard...

expanding my mind, reading the profile of a serial killer. tonight she wears red...tonight she kills.

i have this fucking webcam. maybe i will put it to good use.