s.w.aiyana
Blond curled locks and ripped blouse she stared in the mirror. "Good enough" "okay" "tempting" she screamed in her mind that she was not these things she was more so much more but sarah walked by, "you like being normal?"
nothing is, every thing is. its beating on curiosity it's pushing hard on the boundries it's pulsating its mean and yet it's like soft hot intamacy
like ice and like sunday morning and like hating some one that I once loved, non of it was out of the picture out of mind or thought I had degraded these disgraces to a normal way of things.