yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


the house wasnt ours, it never would be. the dirt didnt smell like us and the matresses would never hold the curve of our bodies. the fan in the bathroom sounded like a motorcycle and all the floors were sticky. everything was paper cups and plates, plastic knives and forkes. wooden cased tvs and exposed electrical circuts. i would hold the sheets up to my nose so i wouldnt have to smell my cousins perfume. i'd lay on the sheet layer above hers so i wouldnt have to feel her legs touching me. my father didnt come home and my mother didnt care about plugging in the christmas tree. it was christmas eve 1987 and i had the feeling things would look the same when i woke up the next morning.
d-land