A saint Bernard in the middle of the white wild, wearing a collar with bourbon, a heating drink for the frozen heart of man. Is now dead... Because I so want him to be.
Suicide isn't painless, but it is easy... To escape it I kill an imaginary beast somewhere else in the world. It's not sad, nor it is depressing... It is just how it is, immoral
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
With empty thoughts of rage and anger
With empty thoughts of rage and anger
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