Mar 31, 2012
Midnite Rider
me and my dad's old truck.. the s10 .. i have my own vehicle now, a 2000, ford explorer, i'll post some sort of photo soon. xo
midnite rider
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 12, 2012
i'd like to climb up on the baby-sitter,
a kid stamping the pieces of broken things
at some garage sale in Iowa, almost a father in some mediocre ways and slays the next cheap-ass professor nursing a drinking life with a plastic knife
later at the Bastard's Sign he is randy and pokes this broken light of glittery squander tit tag with his broken almost soul until he thinks about how he creamed on Iowa's own Flanagan sisters, one outside each page of whiskey with jail. the lecturer at the car rental place finally placed the keys into his hand. driving, he noticed the clouds red with tears all the fears and years of nothing except being slick on how to be alone. he never needed a wet nurse to show him how to pull off/of life. headlights played on the brick of his beard. seein' his street. the clouds.. he'd feel her up tender in this, this killing of the rest of the night when he got there she was shit-faced without the same maternal look she had had at Drake's long narrow bar where they had thrown down sickly green shots of something jumpy and jello, a kid's whiskey without any kick at all.
leaning against the curved railing he watched the handsome thespian in the mirror, the one who sometimes taught himself how to play the guitar, suddenly
laugh at her enourmous forgettable mouth, easily a pool of red glee yea, that's before the match strikes the floor.
at some garage sale in Iowa, almost a father in some mediocre ways and slays the next cheap-ass professor nursing a drinking life with a plastic knife
later at the Bastard's Sign he is randy and pokes this broken light of glittery squander tit tag with his broken almost soul until he thinks about how he creamed on Iowa's own Flanagan sisters, one outside each page of whiskey with jail. the lecturer at the car rental place finally placed the keys into his hand. driving, he noticed the clouds red with tears all the fears and years of nothing except being slick on how to be alone. he never needed a wet nurse to show him how to pull off/of life. headlights played on the brick of his beard. seein' his street. the clouds.. he'd feel her up tender in this, this killing of the rest of the night when he got there she was shit-faced without the same maternal look she had had at Drake's long narrow bar where they had thrown down sickly green shots of something jumpy and jello, a kid's whiskey without any kick at all.
leaning against the curved railing he watched the handsome thespian in the mirror, the one who sometimes taught himself how to play the guitar, suddenly
laugh at her enourmous forgettable mouth, easily a pool of red glee yea, that's before the match strikes the floor.
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