2006-08-03 - 10:14 p.m.
"I can't call you anything, or you'll always have me in the palm of your hand." - ALL, "Postage"
Boy, you've got a bad mouth. Idiot ramblings. Empty accusations. No basis, and no bases. We'll see each other in hell - the potty-mouthed Princess Angst, and The Boy Who Never Got His Shit Together. Wave to me. I'll wave my middle finger high, and if you know that song, you know how it goes, because that's how you see me, anyway. Lies.
You can't take her advice, even if you practically worship her. Alcoholic with sharp words. Fine. Frantic. Play on words. He continues to play you.
Stuffed animals. Post cards. Reminders of missed opportunities. Don't think too much.
You know what's funny? All around my room, there are pictures and logos with skulls and men with tattoos. Edgy shit that doesn't mean anything. Soft girl with the soft smile and soft voice. It's poison, honey.
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