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 scales they glued on you.
no more sex. no more. not again, not this year, not this decade, not this lifetime because i cant handle breaking up or going out or just fucking and crying until that perfectly applied makeup is on the sheets, on shirt collars. You fucked me over. you did it, all by yourself, decided not to fall in love with me or buy me a rattlesnake hide. you cant see me and say its my fault in the middle of the square, cant yell it across the street or turn it into your mantra.

d-land