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.
Digusting title huh?
Not me, It's from a song.
Anyway, on to the subject at hand.
I've always wanted a pair of these.
The classic black Doc Martens.
You can just, stomp the shit outta anybody with these on.
Ouch I know that would hurt.
I would like wear these with a frilly black dress with flowers
looking like,
This is war bitch.
:)
