my bellyache baby

you're my bellyache baby with transient smile cool blue eyes hold chagrin, mad-delight in drunken shakedowns sleeps with bastards has one too many headaches inthe morning. and you always say "everything will be alright" every little fucking way and you're out, on the streets, looking damn fine now, drunk, and telling any which lie to every last creature and you created so many openings for fucking.

god, you're better than pathology.

2003-05-20 | 11:27 a.m.
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