Ah yes. I think I say fuck too much. It is really hard to find good industrial that is not gothcreep with cheese on top.
I think I say fuck too much. I read my blog from yesterday. and boy I tell ya. ah fuck.
Is it so hard, does it fucking crush you when i tell you i just want to dance, can we got out and have a drink and enjoy our drowning existence without you expecting me to let you fuck me. Because I don't want to hold your hand. Because I don't want to zealously stuff hands full of myself into your gaping goddamn void of consciousness. fuck you.
I sit pretty. words float towards me. is it another boy who wants something from me. you fucks.
the friends I've made in the year that I've been here have been through a boy. a boy who grew a mold on his heart and named it after me. I shook him off, while it proceeded to attempt to climb up my arm, no attachments I need, can't we just be friends and dance. no? fuck me. cuddle me. tell me I am everything. match my pee wee herman suit at halloween. be my 80's prom date on vaJentine's day. all of these things sound splendid, yes, but do I REALLY have to be your girlfriend, or pretend that I want to be to relish in such colorful activities? "i love you far too much to be your friend". what the fuck kind of thing is that to say asshooole. another one bites the GOOOODDDAMMN DUST!
I feel like I'm am consistently waiting for something to happen. like I am waiting for life, for fireworks to happen to me. Usually when I can feel it, its somewhere approaching. who knows how long it will take. Thank God for a gut that doesn't lie. Ah. the games.
Scratch my itch, will you now.
I think I say fuck too much. I read my blog from yesterday. and boy I tell ya. ah fuck.
Is it so hard, does it fucking crush you when i tell you i just want to dance, can we got out and have a drink and enjoy our drowning existence without you expecting me to let you fuck me. Because I don't want to hold your hand. Because I don't want to zealously stuff hands full of myself into your gaping goddamn void of consciousness. fuck you.
I sit pretty. words float towards me. is it another boy who wants something from me. you fucks.
the friends I've made in the year that I've been here have been through a boy. a boy who grew a mold on his heart and named it after me. I shook him off, while it proceeded to attempt to climb up my arm, no attachments I need, can't we just be friends and dance. no? fuck me. cuddle me. tell me I am everything. match my pee wee herman suit at halloween. be my 80's prom date on vaJentine's day. all of these things sound splendid, yes, but do I REALLY have to be your girlfriend, or pretend that I want to be to relish in such colorful activities? "i love you far too much to be your friend". what the fuck kind of thing is that to say asshooole. another one bites the GOOOODDDAMMN DUST!
I feel like I'm am consistently waiting for something to happen. like I am waiting for life, for fireworks to happen to me. Usually when I can feel it, its somewhere approaching. who knows how long it will take. Thank God for a gut that doesn't lie. Ah. the games.
Scratch my itch, will you now.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
violetpretty:
Nice play is the only play I know. In most situations.
danslemur:
What you wrote is poetry. Fuck the iambic pentameter bullshit.