Drip...drip....drip....drip....every drip was like a hammer to the back of my delicate teenage head. My eyes opened. You'd think after living on the streets for a year, you'd be used to annoying persistent noises, but it still bothered me. It was easier for me to sleep in an alley with occasionally passing cars and other noises of the city than to break into an abandoned house and hear the same quiet repetitive noise all night. I sighed and slung my shabby backpack over my shoulder as I crawled out of the broken basement window I had entered from.
I noticed the frigid February night air as I sheltered my hands in the front pocket of my
Current Residence: home sweet home NY deviantWEAR sizing preference: mens medium Favourite style of art: cartoonish, but not quite anime Shell of choice: turtle Skin of choice: im not racist Favourite cartoon character: scar Personal Quote: i know. im amazing.
and happier. i have my man, my woman, ive been in so much physical pain for so long that sometimes i dont even notice how much it hurts. floyd is gone again for whatever length of time, so the house is more relaxed. thats all i have to report.
oh the romantic bullshit and then you post a journal full of garbage. You just can't make up your mind can you? is it too much to ask that you just leave my life? I realize your life is sad and boring, but you need to find someone else to obsess over. It freaks me out.
Coming here feels like walking into a old broken down house that we use to live in. Memories still float around here. Good times and bad times. The love that we once had. Looking at all the drawings is like picking up and looking at a picture book that was left behind that is dusty. The watchers and friends are like a phone book. Your gallery is like your art room where you spent hours in drawing.