for every freak and the pain that they reek

i get you

for all of the gays who've had better days

i get you

for all the pissed with lines on their wrists

i get you

for all the weak who've lost the power to speak

i get you

for all the wrong who haven't felt love in so long

i get you

for all those i forgot you should know what you've got

so add me to your list

i get you, i get you a lot

so when you're gone, know that you will be missed

<<for all the soppy shit don't blame me blame my obsessive savior complex but know it's all legit so type me (need i say more)

ME: Tall, violet eyes, sick sense of humor, something to die for surely. Inky black hair.
Venerated clothing. Combat boots. Among the sickly creatures I am messiah, not of the physically sick but something far uglier.

shades of black this is how i feel, short and bittersweet
shades of black2 this is just the other half of shades of black i had to cut off because it was getting obese
odetodad i miss you daddy
plasticwiki if you didn't think me crazy then...

"maybe this world is another planet's Hell" -Aldous Huxley

"i've had a wonderful time, but this wasn't it" -Groucho Marx

If you like Dresden Dolls feel free to talk to me about them, I'm a bit of a fanatic myself.

Decrepit: She That Crawls
Written by Kitty Blue

What—what—is that thing? It must be a “what” dear God don’t let it be a “who”. That would surely bring down the standard of humanity. Confuse the logic of reason. Dissipate the walls of sanity. Come no closer for here born is one I fear greater than death. What justice will side with said creature? She that malts, she that bites, she that crawls… What name can be assigned to a face like that?

Chapter 1:

Nothing like stale acidic air to clog the windpipes and lead one away from a proverbial home… Lethal and quickly sinking over an immobilized city; the streets were clogged with stinking garbage deteriorating in the crevices between ominous towers that went a good ways up but never got one any closer to heaven. Scrawny kittens had grudgingly learned to blend into to their perspective of this disgusting atmosphere—their perspective being the interior of a fallen, half-empty, garbage drum. Car alarms, police sirens, day old Mardi Gras music—muddling into a conglomeration of prolonged animosity. Pliant pedestrians, latent homeless people, and over-dramatized EMCs all gathered around. Slowly amassing like flies.
Muddy black eyes threw glances every which way—clothes equipped with similar attributes solely because every fiber of her being was soaked with gasoline…
Stages of pain reverberated again and again in her head reminding her of the substantial qualities she lacked. The skin of her face was getting acquainted with the texture of the sidewalk. The pounding in her temple subsided into a dull aching pain that spread like wildfire to her bones and then…
The girl rescued her escape from the sewer—yes her escape but it felt like wet paper. She righted herself, pushed half the broken glass bottle into the water, clawing the rest of it out from her soot-colored hair. Soon she was utmost vertical and pushing threw the occupants of this muggy melodrama. Time to get lost—and there were just two kinds: the kind were your found and the kind she was accomplishing.