Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 851. Or, Devil's Haircut. Would that everything came with warning labels, and we'd all be safe, now wouldn't we? I'm sick of knowing what I know. There are no dates on the older photos. I can only guess from my grown up hair cut, I must have been 10. And, I'd like to think age has reshaped the features that stand out, but they've only become a parody of themselves. I guess there are less marks of the sun, I didn't think beauty came with age. It's the same smirk I always wear, just eighteen years premature. I'm toasting my misspent youth with Dr. Pepper. I remember thinking that I would think back on those years and smile, but we didn't know how twisted our lives would become. This isn't venom, dear. This is resignation. Those nights before, when he was a kitten, and you gave a shit what happened to me after last call. Stand up and sing Plush for me one more time, Baby. It feels good to not care when you forget to call me back. 9:30 p.m. - 2004-03-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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