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    words from a total pessimist

    what the hell is love?
    a familiar face?
     a convenient body to satisfy our desires?
        a phone number to call when we want to talk ,anytime we want?
         a routine? kind of consistancy?
    or is it just
          just an illusion
              "masturbation is making love with the people you love"
       now here,Woody Allen's really got a good point     

    addicted to Happy Tree Friends~~

    cute animals
                end up dancing with death
       those short bloody stories
                     have already settled in the brain
           a pretty comfortable home for them
                   nobody knew~~
       evil thoughts like that have long been stirring up my mind
             addicted to HTF~
     who gives a SHIT about what anybody else would think of me
                   
                          

    a multiple choice

    if u have to choose,what would u be,
               a pathetic lonely being,or (son of) a bitch?