Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 848. Or, Virgin Spring. Whenever the ghosts come out Not one of you fucks is constructed enough to be my foundation. Don't dare to pretend other wise. I'm sick of being able to see through you, and I'm sick of you running away everytime I create something tangible. It's back to self tanner and nail polish with pig tails and pretend games of Everything Is Alright. I need some goddamned music. 10:46 p.m. - 2004-03-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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