Smell the rose.
Sweet inspiration.
Does it make you want to f*ck?
Then go f*ck yourself.
You're scarred with imperfection, but aren't we all?
Harder. Does it feel good?
Oh how we love the pain.
Consume. Buy yourself love.
Love doesn't want you.
It hurts, but I was born into this. love hurts.
Makes me hate you. make me f*ck them.
Corrupt minds, thoughts and feelings beauty.
F*ck it hard. Harder. F*ck me.
I have. our love is dead.
Pain orchestrates this art.
Sometimes I feel, but I can't feel.
Unwanted by my virgin.
And I'll slice my throat on a thorn of the dead rose you left me with.
And on our last kiss, she leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. dead rose.
