one more month.

one more person.

one more reason to judge us all.

knock yourself out.

knock yourself up.

knock on wood every EVERY EVERY time you say nobody loves you.

it doesn't really matter.

...procrastinating in the worst way.
procrastinating a move in furniture.
procrastinating a reaction to you.
procrastinating the pronunciation of 'fuck off'.

p-heonix. tanktop-s. flip-flop-s.

oh christmas tree.
oh angry mouth.
oh hurtful words which kiss me sweetly.

and it has been a year...

you are smoke baby, you are a dream

here's to 2am curfews.

here's to no more resolutions.

it was so simple.

and untruthful.

much like you and i, lately.

it's just some well formed molecules.

start the revolution, baby, and who gives a fuck?

because i am SICK TO DEATH of the same old faces.

i think the entire world should be required to read and reread Lady Chattlerly's Lover, because it made me understand sex.