the graying in your hair strands as the light hits your roots embodies the soul of which you traded for a pair of twizzler earrings. Never understood how or why it is that you felt the need to crack your lips, they bleed, they callous, they push away. Not sure if it is you who feels the need to be so Arctic or the feeling of embarrassment you felt after you were humiliated by the clowns that lurked in the darkness. All I can say is that when you bury yourself, you also adorn the edges with nails.

Labels: chaenel, jorge cruz, monamiejorge

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