Jan 04, 2005 21:24
I've forseen my death.
(I'll be very poor,)
I'm about 40-45
(living in a shitty apt.)
I'll (just) slowly die from
(depression clutching jack
daniels)
whisky
(and)
thus
(i'll
have memiors and other novels without)
ends
(written and scattered everywhere.)
The last Rousson.
(Did i mention i am scared of this coming true.)
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