I scar my body,
Like a good boy,
It takes practice at self abuse.
Ceiling turns to paper dolls,
Caught with circles under your eyes.
I help to blind you,
I help to see the truth.
Hold me down.
Filed under Could it be art?, Could it be nothing at all?
depression in its most ecstatic moment!
but what happens afterwards??
You have to reach the lowest to begun ascending. Typified comment yet i believe its true!
I am sure many had this written on their tombstone.
Lol. What r u gonna write on it?
I prefer cremation myself and if I have the choice my bones will not be buried anywhere. I have no answer to your question though. If I can’t think of anything decent I’ll just stick a USB with my blog on it.
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