Don't Look At Me A flap of skin was hanging loose on the roof of my mouth and I batted it around with my tongue. The piece of flesh felt like it was at least an inch long, but I knew that I was surely overexaggerating. It just seemed really big. And it was bleeding profusely. The taste of blood rushed all around my upper gums, mingling with the round razor-sharp disc of butterscotch from whence the cut was formed. Its truly a strange taste sensation. Probably not one youd want to visualize. Forgive me. SoDon't Look At Me
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Al tempio, incisa nella pietra, c'è una poesia intitolata "la mancanza"
Ci sono 3 parole, ma il poeta le ha cancellate.
Non si può leggere la mancanza, solo avvertirla.
gallery [link]
I love your gallery.
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Having been fucked is no excuse for being fucked up
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~fanatical-neo-zealot
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