paris, blabla
So I went to paris again, just for one night, one night of dancing, perversity (haha) and strange people. New people, old people, nice place for afterparty (mr pimp really knows how to get young girls to paris - pervert) and more dancing.
do I look like a slut? uhuh!
I love that song. And I love doing crazy things, being impulsive, but I hate it when it hurts people. I hate myself, somehow.
when I see her sitting there, I can only see myself. I hate her, I hate her, and I can't stop thinking about it, the things she does, did and will do, they all remind me of what I have NOT become. I'm a lucky girl. I'm in control, I really am. But I feel so bad for her.
it's so nice to just dance, stop thinking, keep dancing, smoking and more dancing and then leave it all behind. like, party...
do I look like a slut? uhuh!
I love that song. And I love doing crazy things, being impulsive, but I hate it when it hurts people. I hate myself, somehow.
when I see her sitting there, I can only see myself. I hate her, I hate her, and I can't stop thinking about it, the things she does, did and will do, they all remind me of what I have NOT become. I'm a lucky girl. I'm in control, I really am. But I feel so bad for her.
it's so nice to just dance, stop thinking, keep dancing, smoking and more dancing and then leave it all behind. like, party...