Mascara Massacre
Fruit flies go buzzing, fresh bread, it tastes stale. Soon my indications will prevail. You see my patience, it was wearing thin, my lips smack back laughter, at the slightest hint of sin. Covering my tracks, for that whore of a girl. She cant tell now, no longer in my world. My mothers dissapointment when finding rumors true. Sour with disgust, have to take her head off too. Wretched gone postal, killing everything in sight. PMS is a bitch and so was the girl I killed that night. Mascara massacre stained washrag. Hatred falls deep within. My lips smack back laughter at the slightest hint of sin. Written June 10th, 2001 © on Jun 10 2001 01:32 PM PST 0 • 1
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"Fruit flies go buzzing,..."