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


not silly or sad, just sedated in the eighties like the song goes. not hands or feet, just torso to wipe dirty palms on. cant think or speak, just write like you asked me to and wrap the blanket around my sholders before i pass out. throat tastes like beer and spagetti, looks kill but i'd just kill to look. show you my chest, shudder and put cotton in my ears.
d-land