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Our revolution like all others had no beginning. Just a start. The balloon of hatred towards our French aristocrats and their “Ancien Régime” was inflating before anyone can remember.
I hate life. Living in what is a supposedly a perfect society. The city is mostly white as well as the clothing. I am the only one who doesn't wear white.
High heels on, Lipstick bright red. Taking whiskey shots, All senses dead. Kissing in the bar, Hormones flying about. Drunk off my face, Without a party doubt.
#household Not so smug, are you anymore. You used to act so superior. Saying big words we couldn't understand. Bet you this isn't anything you had planned. Never could leave well enough alone.
Is it really worth all of this bother, Another day putting one foot in front of the other. Twenty-four hours filled with trouble and strife, Minutes pass by while battles are rife.
She was too disgusted with men, enough not to touch them. She wasn't a lesbian however, she liked girls but not very often.
So what if I like rock bands. Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Queen. Why does it seem wrong to you. How is it obscene. I ride a motorbike, so what. You think I shouldnt ride?.
Unorganised ruins of lost souls, wandering through graveyards of old. Howling and prowling, for a god we're told. Confusion in sunken eyes that scold. Distant memories in worlds we borrowed.
we drift from block to block, from city to city, traversing continents and timezones. we live in cheap hostels, tiny flats and abandoned structures, scavenging the scraps of a fallen society.