Contrary to popular belief:

I'm complicated.
What it is one time PAC DIV.
My mind is a blood red brick house on Stone street
with thousands of rooms; blue mirrors,
the auroma of marajuana and music.
Cacoethes Scribendi. Get it tattooed on my wrist.
New Orleans native. My accent proves it all.
I am finally beggining to accept the fact that I am meant to be alone.
I am forever in the cycle of change.
I tend to treat serious situations like how I treat strangers.
I'm a starving writer and a dying phtographer.
No one will ever comprehend or understand.
When I die I want Bob Marley playing at my gravesite.
I am the rose that grew from concrete.



1.10.2010

Eastside or dare.

Alright.
So I'm moving. (I can't stress this enough)
To Cinco Ranch hahaaa.
Because Austin is too fucking gay.

I don't mess with too many girls because most of them are hypocrites.
They all think they're real and shit.
And that they're different and shit.
And they know every fucking thingevery fucking time.
That's why you're only suppose to have a select few.
Have a small circle.
Because just like bitches are fake, niggas are fake too.

Everybody gotta talk about somebody else.
And go tell who said what about who.
But somewhere between what is said, and what is true
the truth always come up missing.
Every fucking time.
You said this about me?
Your'e fake as hell.
She's a whore.

Arrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Real reconize real bitch.
Now shut up. Haha.
I guess. I'm not gonna be in highschool forever.