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.
Dammit.
I could sit here all day with my face buried in my hands.
Thinking to myself how? why? when?
Have you ever wanted something, so bad, that you could kill behind it?
That you would do ANYTHING to keep what you wanted. * is all I wanted.
I'll refer to it as * because I'm concealing stuff here.
My selfish desire for *, has put me on so many levels of frustration and anger.
I didn't know all the other bad things that came with it.
I regret wanting this. I just wanted it to look like this (Below)
Sigh...
