AIM xOxURmyDISCOxOx
I hate conversations that die too soon, books that end too early, art that sours and loses meaning with time, friendships that make you realize people are really just mostly water and love that mixes the color of your heart to black.
In the words of john St john: More, is most definitely more. More eyeliner, more mascara, more rips in those jeans, more hairspray, more heels, more vodka, more dancing, more outrage. Why wear one string of pearls when you can wear twenty. DONT DREAM IT BE IT (you can rose tint my world, but I’ll still be a mother fucker.) The road of excess leads to true fabulosness so follow the yellow brick road. I’m never gonna go back home- I don’t wanna click my fucking heels, I wanna dance in them. Fuck all you bitchy blonde-highlighted scene-queen clones. You wouldn’t know creative if it fisted you whilst singing Bob Fosse’s greatest showtunes. Get over me. More importantly, Get over yourselves. Careful not to smile at me however- you’ll turn to stone… or worse, you may wrinkle you San Tropez’d façade, and botox sure as hell doesn’t come cheap. Wannabe’s, next-big-things, has-beens, and plain old Never Were’s, you’re all invited to my party. Take me to the club…bassline is my tattoo to life. Boom. Pull up to the bumper, I’m a slave to the rhythm. Michael Musto, come write my story. David LaChapelle, come take my picture.
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