I don't know if it's the whiskey or the cigarettes or the one night stands or the phony lovers phoning you for self affirmation that they too - can **** like a professional star on a cheap website.
I don't know if everything I've ever been told was only a regurgitation of everything someone else has ever been told. If we all function solely through heresy and political agendas.
Blood stains on freshly lit cigarettes, they say those'll **** you - but I'm already dead inside.
Starve myself because the scale hates me
because the models in the magazines are what my lover fancies
because every photograph I've seen within the past several years were of girls resembling holocaust victims - who most likely suffered in the same way that most of those victims have. But only in the sense that, they themselves were the German Nazis malnourishing their Jewish bodies of food.
How awful it must feel, to embody both the **** and the Jewish girl. But I've never actually read Anne Frank's memoir - so what the **** do I know.
If I were skinnier, if I were prettier, if I were smarter, if I read more non fiction and russian literature - if I listened to radio talk shows about politics and found scifi equally as enjoyable as I find raunchy cult classics that make up the subculture stereotype.
Would I then, capture your attention?
I've already lost my own, truthfully. But everything is only temporary anyways.
