Crescendo. in Always Recovering, Never Recovered.
- May 9, 2016, 7:33 a.m.
- |
- Public
Burning alive in boiling-oil revulsion.
I fucking hate you so much I can’t remember how to think, how to breathe; I can’t do this.
I want to rip off your rancid flesh with my fingernails.
I can’t even look at you, I wish you were dead.
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Paper Cut Scenario ⋅ May 16, 2016
Have we met? Because this entry describe's how people feel about me perfectly. Except my flesh is not rancid. Just my music. oi oi oi!
Deleted user ⋅ May 25, 2016