Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets. This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals. And I am not afraid to die. I'm not afraid to bleed, and fuck, and fight. I want the pain of payment. What's left, but a section of pigmy size cuts. Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks. Would you be my little cut? Would you be my thousand fucks? And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid. To fill, and spill over, and under my thoughts. My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter. I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart. Love is not like anything. Especially a fucking knife.

Likes
guys, music, daloco.com, skateboarding, rollerblading, bikeriding, volleyball, watching movies, cuddling, kissing, alchohal(sometimes), animals, socializing.

Dislikes
dredlocks, packies, sitting still for longer then an hour, bad body odor, flirtacious gurls, stuck up epople, fakes, liars, posers, people who cut themselves for attenition and a few other things im not gunna get into

Favorite Music
marianas trench, savage garden, billy talent, simple plan, green day, paparoach, bullet for my valentine,.. anything in that category.