Oh, and i might be in a short film, might, not sure, ttfn!


The WriterThe writerThe Writer
The pen skittered back and forth across the page. The room was silent apart from the scratch and the occasional grunt from the haggard looking man how bent over the desk, his face low over the page and marked with ink, its dark colour the only one in that stark white, haunted face.
This was the writer. In his fleeting moments of sanity, that that came and went like the showers of rain in April, he felt like a man both blessed and cursed. Before he was able to explain why to the few friends still remaining to him, a number that dwindled as time march on to its steady beat, the strange
btw nice login - babyshambles?
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People don't change. For example, I'm gonna keep on repeating - people don't change
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Love and life to you
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee no way but this, killing myself to die upon a kiss.
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"Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; You are the one who is burned."
Buddha is always right!!
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Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver!
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Giddy as a gangbanger.
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DarkSyde
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