let's see how bad my timing gets this time.
but then again maybe all these years it wasn't completely my bad in timing.
butterflies, butterflies, death of my eyes.

oh the impossibility of feelings.

my type of prince charming;
has longer hair than me
is skinner than me
has done more drugs than i'll ever be able to look up
skates from young age
plays guitar but prefers bass
is perfectly fine with sitting/sleeping/living on the streets
can talk shakespeare with me
is like a cigarette to me, just as unhealthy, and me being perfectly fine without it but never really get it off my mind or having the ability to resist it at all.
doesn't know how my heart jumps everytime i hear his name after an amount of years not worthy when he left me choking and rotting in my dirty little coffin passing by every once in a while making my grass green but never stop and come to me as he promised.