Wednesday, February 13, 2008
￼ i stumble through the darkness, feeling the freshly jacked jizz on the floor beneath my feet as
i scurried cat like through the bijoux, trying to get from point A to Point D without point B & C grabbing too much junk from my trunk. The drugs have almost worn off and i'm ready for another unhealthy respite. I tumble backwards and land on some strange trolls lap, smile profusely and quickly excuse my self. I make it to the bathroom in one piece, collapsing against the cool tiled wall as i lock the door and fish deep in my pockets for another bag of coke. the knocking begins and doesn't stop for a good 20 minutes, during which time i am frozen in fear, unable to take a hit of blow or move even the slightest muscle for fear of being discovered. my mind was practically gone, my transformation into a human zombie almost complete. Was i beyond the point of no return? Remains to be seen.
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￼ Snorting rails of fresh crushed morphine, jonesing james, losing will, looking for pleasure...
with intimate gains, hoping 4 someone so kind, so nice...can i believe it? dare i roll the dice. I'm strangely attracted to human blight and live for the debauchery of my soul. I know i am in need of a searching self exam, but i am doing all i can just to be...me. I really ought to go, gotta find my own way, know that your bad for me, so why i wanna stay? take your pain away, but theres a thud, in my head, don't wanna make it go away. you are the thing that lives inside me and each breath i take brings us both closer to everlasting peace.
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Monday, February 04, 2008
￼ Fuquisha gets onto the train, plops her mack size ass down and pulls a bag of Nacho Doritos...
from her seemingly bottomless purse. I follow silently and sit across from her, pretending not to notice as she then pulls a bottle of Alize out and takes a hearty swig, followed by a deep and purposeful burp. She trys to cross her legs, but gives up once she realizes my skinny legs are in her way. Shooting me a look of inconvenience, she stares me up and down and then asks if there's a bathroom on the train. I point in it's direction and look at her in amazed bewilderment as she gets up, Alize in hand and trucks down the train car aisle towards the toilet. a suburban looking lady in a Burberry trench coat is in her way, so Fuquisha pushes up against her until the befuddled looking lady is forced to move into a row of seats and make way for her. Fuquisha suddenly stops in her tracks, downs the rest of her bottle and hands the empty vessel to the Burberry bitch and says "Can you recyle this for me?" By this point everyone is staring at her in disbelief, except for me. I have discovered a new form of personal diva, an X-large sized vixen in boa trimmed dress, able to work 5 inch heels and not give a flying fuck what the rest of the world thinks. My new heroine.
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Sunday, February 03, 2008
￼ standing 6 ft 4 in 5 inch silver strappy stilletoes with gold python trim and wearing a few...
sizes too small for xlarge frame eggplant polyester wrap dress with pink boa trim, FUQUISHA ST. IVES was a vision of gorgeous excess offfset by an undeniable visual appeal. i saw her standing on line waiting for a train ticket at the huntington station, escorted by her puerto rican & chinese pimp daddy Mookie LeRoy. I was a few peple behind them but i could hear every word that came out of her magenta stained lips and they were priceless indeed. As Mookie sipped openly from a can of steel reserve, Fuquisha looked at him with alarm in her eyes and counterfeit astonishment in her tone. "what the fuck are you doing, drinking a 40 while i am absolutely parched to death? where the hell is my beverage?" Mookie ignored her as they got to the window and he purchased two one way tickets to NYC paid with a greasy looking fifty. Fuquisha was not having it and as they walked away from the window she knocked the can from his hands and kicked him with her fiercely tacky shoes, then spun around and headed for the ladies room. Mookie cursed her in brooken puerto-ese and followed right into the john, forcing a large group of traveling nuns to run out at the sight of his presence. Screams and curses followed and then there was the sound of a single gun shot. Fuquisha emerged, smiling insanely and fixing the back of her hastily achieved weave. Without a word she strode through the station, the clickety clack of her heels echoing eeerily thru the room. I decided to follow her down to the tracks, which is when my adventure officially began. I soon learned that you don't fuck with Fuquisha, especially if you're hogging a banjee 40....more to come
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Tuesday, January 22, 2008
￼ I slowly dip my fingers into the red ink and spread it across my broken face in smooth...
...slow circles, trying to cover the black & blue with another shade of hate. As I cover each mark and let the ink dry I face my reflection in the mirror and start to cry. Partly for myself, but also for him, love trapped in fear, the ultimate fukt up emotion. I realize things now, that i wish i had before, opening my eyes, wider than before. Soaking in the past, while dreaming about the new, stuck in an endless pattern, of self persecution and abuse. I've never felt this broken before, yet also reborn, new energy in bloom. So I turn on the tap and start to wash my face clean, the red ink dripping from my face, the black n blue strangely clean. Once I am dry I turn out the light and think about better daze, be they wrong or hopefully right.
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Monday, January 21, 2008
￼ slipknots of secretion, inept serendipity, profound unpurposefulness, amiable ambiguity...
rambling again, feeling everything except being my own best friend, looking out never in, letting it rip another hole underneath my skin. day 2 of crystal clear yet befuddled sobriety, my body one big knot of pain and terror. everything unresolved but finding it's way in my head. big desicions to be made, hopefully which won't leave me dead. tired of just being a survivor, in need of love of myself and a possible lack of desire. knowing that it's all within my reach yet out of grasp...looking, searching, seeking, finding, yet still feeling like an ass. something calls out west and i know it's right, am i ready to make one of the biggest jumps in my life?
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Thursday, January 17, 2008
￼ Rocking it ultra hard amd working it like a pro, she was a vision...
Current mood: ￼awake
Category: Writing and Poetry
in ultra correctness and hardly sacraficing her soul. Dressed as if it might be the last day on earth and bearing an air of self imposed superiority with a tinge come hither regret. She parted the crowd with the sway of her hips and the lazor presicion of her eyes. A modern day super vixen with a hint of kitten and an un-healthy appetite for personal destruction. She took no prisoners, just pieces of their existence, a slight slice of their soul. Many had come to fall under her gaze, slither into her spell, eventually falling into her evil web of her supposed desire and suffering a hautely horrific last act of dual desperation, full well knowing going in that there was no getting out, only giving in. And so many did. One after another, an endless list of lies, non goodbyes and airtight alabies. So beware the temptress who hides amongst the pure, waiting to seduce them and always wanting more. She's closer than expected and visually selective. But beware...and always rock fierce fucking hair. L8TR
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Tuesday, January 15, 2008
￼ black n blue n bruised all over, hardly feeling lucky, no 4 leaf clover...
Current mood: bruizd n busted
Category: bruizd n busted Life
magnum force of jawbreaking surprise, the blood paints a veil that fills my eyes. a hidden lust or an unknown greed, the sheer impact of it hits me like fresh cut speed. the lost, bedeviled little boy, no longer able to accept the simplest joy. but as the pain and scars begin to fade away, all that is left is yet another day. to start again and hope anew, until the next wave of nausea accented black with blue.
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￼ Licking my wounds while sucking out my soul, healing my heart...
Current mood: ￼blah
while breaking my bones. shooting for the stars, but not even reaching the moon. hoping for redemption as i sink myself even further into hell. trying to love those around me , even if they can't love me, giving myself yet one more chance, to break through all this stupidity. Feeling as if anythings possible, but realizing maybe it's not. Living in a world, where all anyone care about is "that's hot".
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Fugly, freaky, gnarley assed trolls...
Current mood: ￼rejuvenated
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping
Fugly, Freaky, Gnarly funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere i look it's as if an episode of The Twilight Zone has morphed with Village of the Damned and Invasion of the Body Snatchers...
...how does one put a stop to the beyonder beastlieness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead search for their 15 seconds of fame and the perfect fitting jean? I'm on line at Starbucks in a Target located smack in the middle of bum fuck Fla. (sorry floridians but unless you're in miami, Tampa or The Magic fucking Kingdom, Fla. is nothing but endless strip malls, cranky crocodiles, impatient old folk waiting to croak and an unbelievable ammount of counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss). There are 2 counter kids to serve a line of java junkies growing perilously long by the minute and they aint exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in an eggplant stretchy dress that resembles a vintage 80's legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is cornrowed not unlike bo derek but hardly scoring a perfect 10. Behind her is a family of six all dressed in Harley Davidson apparrel and cowboy hats and the dad is losing his patience with eggplant lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she decides between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. suddenly, everyones attention is diverted to the front entrance where another family of four in bred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who wears a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention. Eggplant lady finally settles on an iced coffee then proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over 20 packets of sugar in the raw into her drink. The Harley family order 6 vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the 2 counter kids into a freaked out tizzy of confusion, but i'm too busy staring at a well dressed midget in his late 70's who has just walked into the store escorting an unbelievably botoxed blonde hottie through this surreal beauty pageant we call life. The police arrive and start interogating the farkle family until finally the littlest one is forced to pull a bratz doll out from under her skirt and the parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other knowing looks. the line behind me is now over 20 people long and the 2 counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they try to get the six vente fraps together. I decide that i can't contribute to corporate coffee culture and sit down at a vacant table and suck the rest of the scene in, laughing to myself as i surmise the sheer absurdity of life and how desperate people have become for an overpriced coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. I get up after awhile and leave, but not until eggplant lady has made her return, claiming to have spilled her iced coffee and demanding a free refill. the 2 counter kids are speechless but i know just what to say as i saunter past her and whisper just loud enough for her to hear..."hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure ain't gonna fly here", and she turns around and shoots me a look but i smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and the botox babe are leaaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
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Tuesday, December 18, 2007
￼ Walking down the boulevard of my past, Santa Monica to be exact...
Current mood: ￼forgotten
where oh where have all the hookers gone? Super tweaker freakers fried on speed, spinning out of control, hopping into passing cars or cruising the 7-11 parking lot on the corner of Curson. Plumber Park no longer serves as a breeding ground for midnight debauchery and the notorious TomKat theater has been homo homogonized with nary a fresh sticky seat to be found. Hunters, the ultimate hustler bar is now an empanada joint and the Spike is closed up, it's cold grey exterior the only sign of it's once glorious seediness. Will & I hung out at The Gold Coast all afternoon yesterday, where my old friend Boo from Hunters poured us a long & steady stream of drinks as we chain smoked and lamented the dubious clean up of a once sketchy neighborhood where we had both proudly let our freak flags fly. Maybe it is a good thing- I mean santa Monica Blvd. 10 years ago was like an open sore of a freshly aquired STD. Charachters both stunning and stupifying vied for your attention or paid favors, lost in a self induced haze of chemichal dis-connect. Strangers quickly became friends, friends turned over-nite into enemies and enemies were tolerated as long as their drugs didn't run out. I walked that Blvd. at all hours in search of things i could never find, finding things i still haven't been able to shake off. Fashion editor by day, hustler and drug addict by night. Lost in the street lights and passing glances of fucked up old trolls with bulging wallets and limp dicks. Wobbling home after the bars closed or getting lost in endless motel rooms a few blocks up on the strip. Miserable and merry, content yet cunty, sour cream feelings curdled by my own inability to actually feel anything but self pity, I felt rich in the cum of total strangers, bearing no name, a bastard whore with a bit of street fame. I survived it, not many do, so i raise my shot glasas and toast the ones that didn't get away. The wide-eyed teenagers hungry for love, the trannie hookers so gorgeously turned out, the dealers with no soul and nothing to fall back on, the greedy bar owners desperate to cash in on other peoples unhappiness, the hangers on & the posers all looking for the same unfulfilling thing and the tortured stars of the Blvd., beautiful yet broken boys with nothing to lose except their self respect and their lives, destined to end up another casualty of the sick & wonderfully perverse world of pay for play, where an unblemished face and a crooked grin can gain you entry into a fantasy world full of temporary satisfaction and everlasting demons, all in the glorious name of getting off.
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Thursday, December 13, 2007
￼ Passing thru yet another drive in convenience...
Current mood: ￼content
...looking for something to fill the void. Deep fried guilt with extra heavy gravy remorse. Breaking free from TV interludes seducing me with pacification. I take a deep breath, exhaling all the counterfeit emotion I have been blown away by...emerging whole, as myself.
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Wednesday, December 05, 2007
￼ You Spot Them a Block Away, Mere Blurs Of Stylish Intrigue Approaching...
Current mood: ￼blessed
...each other at runway speed. The flurry of feathers ruffling and the jaunt of a cap perched low over one eye...the stovepipe legs encased in flourescent orange jeans that look like two glow in the dark toothpicks...the flash of an assymetric bang, severe sassoon styling taken to Mis-Shapes extremes...the clickity clack of an overpriced designer boot and it's perilous heels drawing closer as you start to get a better view...half a block away they come into focus. They are of your tribe, style tribe that is...the eye contact begins at first visual fix and the cold stare of a fashion obsessed and food deprived soul intent on surreal visual correctness at the expense of everything else...their fierceness makes me re-consider myself and i take mental note of my own effect, my look, my fierceness...i pull my hat a bit off to one side and slide my hands deep into the pockets of my skinny pearl grey jeans and i shrug from the cold in my triple 5 soul hoodie, and i scratch the surface in my pointy toed boots scrunched down like slinkies around my ankles when suddenly we are passing each other, looking each other up and down with passive faces full of hunger. Hunger for freshness, hungry for visual stimulation taken to over the top extremes. And then it's over. I resist the urge for one more look and force myself ahead, my eyes fixing on my next victim of optical appeal, another funny blur in a distance that magically transforms into stylish swan or an uber ugly duckling. No matter which- sad or happy, gorgeous or fugly, as long as they are working a look of correct style banjee realnesss down the runway of life.
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Wednesday, November 21, 2007
￼ The POD people wander through the aisles of Walmart in a self enduced trance of shopatitis...
Current mood: ￼crazy
excited by bargains that add up to nothing and losing their shame in the kitchen appliances section. Making up for their lack of anything by trying on lipstick that hardly suits them. Reciting song lyrics that you have no idea what they mean but mindlessly mouth the words anyway pretending to be snoop as you stare at yourself in the mirror and pretend that you're something that you're not. Dreams become real and the sensation of life disguises itself as counterfeit astonishment and you count your personal belongings thanking an imaginary god that you have the means to continue purchasing your happiness through things you don't really need, satisfying yourself with the bizzare notion that nothing means anything unless it costs a small fortune and bears the tags of the gods...Prada, Tom Ford, Gucci, YSL, Marc, Karl, Ralph, Donna, Calvin, Zeus...And you face each day safe in the knowledge that you exist because you have spent more than enough money to prove your existence...and importance...and potence.
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Sunday, November 04, 2007
￼ The flawless queen sashays through the bar- red wayfarers against Dior based skin...
Current mood: ￼crazy
...she is just simply the fiercest thing ever, in her mind and now ours. We are both captivated instantly, straining our necks for a better view, pricking up our ears to catch every last drop of her deliciously wicked diction. Apparently some sort of drama has just gone down and she has escaped within an inch of her life. The Usual Shit. She takes a seat at the bar and i realize she's wearing a full on 40's net snood with a huge Lily propped on one side of her head, pistol like. The Red Wayfarers are put back on, i guess this diva does wear her sunglasses at night. She orders a Long Island Iced Tea, Xtra strong, xtra cherries, please. The bartender whispers something to her that we can't hear, but it causes the fierce diva to let out a deep and bellowed laugh that shook the room with hilarious fury and vocal debauchery. Our friends that we we're waiting for suddenly showed up and we had to leave, but as we walked past her flawlessness we managed to make a split second of eye contact which prompted a hesitant, yet heartfelt nod that signified nothing less than her anointing us to her corecct presence. She was the queen of cool and we were her disciples in a desperate search for ultimate visual stimulation, of which only she could properly supply.
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Tuesday, October 23, 2007
￼ Tripping down the boulevard of life, lost in Mayonaise dreams and Marshmallow delights...
Current mood: ￼blank
By Walter Cessna
As I innocently skip down the anti-fashion runway of my daily life, fugly, freaky, gnarly & funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere I look it's as if I'm stuck in a never ending episode of The Twilight Zone that seems to have morphed with Children Of The Damned and Invasion Of The Body Snatchers, constantly playing on loop as visual diarrhea in my brain.
How does one put a stop to the beyonder beastliness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead incessantly search for their fifteen seconds of ultra slim fast fame and the perfect fitting size 0 jean?
I'm on line at a Starfucks in a TarJay located smack in the middle of bum fuck Florida. Sorry my sweat soaked Floridians, but unless you're in Miami or The Magic Fucking Kingdom, Florida is nothing but endless strip malls, counterfeit crocodile warnings, never ending Amber alerts, impatient old folk waiting to croak as they pilot golf carts and let their skin turn to leather and an unreal amount of soul stripped denizens steeped in counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss.
My caffeine fuzz is fading and I'm stuck in the middle of a very long and varied line. There are two counter kids to serve a line growing perilously long of java junkies by the second and they ain't exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in a ripened eggplant hued stretchy dress that resembles a vintage eighties legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is corn-rowed not unlike Bo Derek but hardly scoring a perfect ten.
Behind her is a family of six, entirely dressed in Harley Davidson accessories, apparel, even stamped HD emblazoned cowboy boots. The father is losing his patience with ripened eggplant legwarmer lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she takes her sweet assed time deciding between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. Suddenly everyone's attention is diverted towards the front entrance where a family of five inbred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who sports a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention.
Eggplant lady finally settles on a skim milk iced decaf coffee, pays in change which she pulls out of a soiled Crown Royal sack and proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over ten packs of Splenda into her drink. The Harley family order six vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the two counter kids (who incidentally, like all mall culture working underclass, resemble missing members from the animated band Gorillaz) into a freaked out tizzy of confusion. I'm distracted for a moment as a well dressed might as well be a midget late seventies man walks past escorting an unbelievably Botoxed and bimbo blonde beauty through this surreal beauty pageant we call life.
The police arrive and and start interrogating the funky family until finally the littlest troll is forced to pull a Bratz doll out from under her dress and parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other smug, knowing looks. The line behind me now trails deeply out of Starfucks and into the TarJay and the two counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they desperately frapinate their brains out getting the six ventes together.
I suddenly decide that I can no longer contribute to corporate coffee culture, give up my space on line and sit down at a vacant table to suck in the rest of this increasingly absurd scene, laughing while crying to myself at the sheer insanity of life and how programmed people have become for an overpriced, over sweetened coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. You've seen her. Expertly balancing an extra large drink in one hand while perusing multiple racks of Isaac Wannabe down graded couture like classics while tucking a hot pink and rhinestone encrusted cell phone under their chin all the while cranking out exasperated facial expressions and verbal squirts of delight or incredulousness through gum smacking chews and overly MAC'd lips.
I get up after the Harley family collectively whoops it up as they simultaneously suck up their fraps and begin their shopping journey heading in the direction of beacons bearing the names ELECTRONICS, PHARMACY, SHOES, TOYS, BOYSWEAR ETC. As I get to the counter I almost bump into eggplant lady whom has returned bearing an empty Starfucks container and claiming she spilled her skim iced decaf coffee, demands a free refill. The two counter kids are speechless, one is actually drooling, a slow stream of spit spilling through his pierced lower lip and splashing slowly onto the collar of his Pac Sun wish I was a skater somebody t-shirt. As I walk past her I whisper just loud enough for her to hear, "Hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure as shit ain't gonna fly here." She spins around and shoots me a withering look of evil misguided contempt but I simply smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and Botox babe are leaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
I walk further into mall land until I find myself reluctantly on line at a shop called "Goin' Postal!" (I kid you not). In front of me, a flat oval shaped ass is encased in a pair of high-waisted, almost acid wash jeans that actually appear to be dry cleaned and then ironed again at home to ensure that anal retentive and oh so perfect pleat. Bitch will not shut up. High-waisted jeans lady has shape shifted into uptight and indecisive freakazoid loudly debating whether or not to use Priority Mail or cheap out and do media mail. My mind goes numb and I find myself absent mindedly lighting up a cigarette and blowing the smoke right at her. Hopefully through her.
The counter girl, a strangely voluptuous little number with half blue hair and acne under her lip forming a pimple moustache is smiling at me, staring at my inked arms as she ignores high-waisted jeans lady. I blow plume after plume of smoke, surrounding her head like a swarm of locusts encased in an acrid haze. Bitch turns around and says something like "It's against the law to smoke in here!" So I blow another round of smoke in her face and calmly tell her that "It's against the law to wear crappy acid wash jeans that make your ass look like a pear caught in a blender."
I push past her, plop down a five and ask for some stamps. The counter girl hands them to me and I tell her to keep the change. I turn around to leave but Bitch is standing right in my face giving a scowl that reads refusal to budge. So I politely pick her up (big ass, but lightweight bitch) and place her a foot or so away from me as she huffs and puffs and tries to blow my house down.
"Not today lady," I seethe. I'm cranky. I'm tired. I'm sober and strung out. And I ain't about to put up with anybodies shit, no matter how sweet it might be smelling. I flick my cigarette out the door as I exit and never look back, preferring to remember the look on her face as I left her. Confused, freaked the fuck out and seriously pissed off. I would be too if I was wearing those pants. Get your ass to TarJay bitch and pick up something that can at least be described as current.
I walk to my car, bracing against the 99 degree mugginess that wipes my body with the feeling of discomfort and sweat soaked defeat. I look around and realize that I am lost in a sea of sub standard sports utility vehicles and carts being pushed by the walking dead, consumer purchases on their mind, spending money they don't have their only agenda. I sink into the seat of my battle blue Corsica stick shift and turn on the radio, loudly confronted by "don't you wish your girlfriend was raw like me?" Actually, I don't, but thanks for asking. Oh yeah, have a nice day.
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￼ brilliant yet stupid, gorgeous but gross, sincere then superficial...
Current mood: ￼blah
i'm scanning the room and looking for excusesm to indulge myself in the distraction of attraction. Of the the delight of disillusionment masquerading as the temporary thrill of visual first lust. Pretty boys and not so pretty girls- legs encased in sausage like jeans and shoes that have been worn to self destruction. Heels scraping cold concrete and broken hearts looking for one more chance- finding nothing but bitter regret and a cold stare from the face of a man-child- fresh meat but spoiled mind. Soiled soul. Still, we take the baby steps into the dance and look for new partners to lose ourselves in. An endless capacity for counterfeit astonishment that seems like fun at first but quickly makes you tired and bored and restless and restricted and rebellious and redundant and blah, blah, blah. I pick the simplest looking soul and draw him into my web...of despair & self destruction, sucking him dry as I fill anew with life, sacraficed from the innocent to support my endless tour of debauchery.
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