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


and on sundays i'll lay in bed with my legs pulled up to my chest thinking up ways to make you happy but always coming short of succeeding. when we fuck you'll always wonder if i'm faking and when we fuck i'll always wonder if this is real.

i imagine you tasting like the time i swallowed a penny in the first grade. i, being overly flexible, being bent like a doll made of wires with plastic flesh-toned coatings into a million directions.

d-land