this is how it will happen. you'll be walking home late one night/ early one morning. still buzzed from the rum punch at that party and still anxious about that cute geek's number you scored when some old grungy dude on a pink bike will ride past you. momentarily startled out of your walking daydream you'll be too focused on the buzzing yellow street lights and heated mewing of the stray cats to notice me sneaking up behind you. too late you'll turn around, and when i jump up (or bend down) to kiss you your life will flash before your eyes and i'll slip you a lil cotton candy w' some tongue. you lucky bastard/bitch.
gladly, i will never be a man.
pink isn't a color, it's a lifestyle.
art frustrates/fascinates me. so does the creative process.
fake people fuck up my sinuses. which explains why i'm always sneezing
