lay nudes at my gravestone, not flowers. flowers will wither away, but a bomb ass booty is forever
There’s nothing to do, so I’m gonna Tumbl.
how can you be an endless feedback loop
consonantly repeating the past
do you know
that you can grow?
that you can be free
not from the past
but from it’s grasp
from sad nostalgia
that thinks the past is as good as it gets
like self-fulfilling prophets
not profiting from pain
yet still onward repeating
till it all feels the same
maybe then when it’s lost it’s meaning
can you see it as not appealing
maybe then you can be free
I wanna lose myself between your legs..