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I listen to the absence of noise,
dead summer breeze, I’m inflated with suspicions
seems I’ve identified again the criminal of my intent
imagine exercising that same routine you reinvent
I’m just a cold face on the street slow and somber in my patterns
I’m just a friend you’ll never meet, I am the love that never happens
my days exist in meaningless ways
yes
no
designing indian take-out menus and living in a bedsit in Bradford City. no link between the two intended.
somehow ruling Spain & France, now named 'Sprance' a republic of conceptual dance, fashion & bull fighting.
running a 10 family cult in worship of a religion yet to be writt...er, discovered. yes.
re-taking primary school, I was too creepy and gothic the first time around
taking in orphaned children and recieving widespread compliments but in secret the first entirely under-10s sweatshop is under my command. muaha.
still on deviantart, watched by young girls and old pervy men.
writing for My Chemical Romance so for once they can have a geniune track.
claiming I wrote the bible in a previous life and being beaten by the pope with that stick thing he has.
acting as the new face of Coca Cola, even with no teeth though.
staring in my own sitcom on BBC where I sit at a desk in a suit and pull funny faces. RICKY GERVAIS SUCKS! ahem..
✌️+ 🚬 = @meth
