skip to main
|
skip to sidebar
The Hiding Spot
August 13, 2010
Rationality, Technicality, Fuck Reality
The words spoken are like herbs falling down your throat
There's cuts on my fingers from the papers I've burned
Ridding of your prints, and ink dedicated to me
Now your legs look like wires, but shit I can feel you inside
I'm wastin' away inside of this drain
Spinning so sweetly, trying hard to be rational
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
About Me.
Emma Cherry
In a yellow sumbarine, Liechtenstein
We must blend into the choir Sing as static with the whole. We must memorize nine numbers and Deny we have a soul. And in this endless race for property and Privilege to be won. We must run, we must run, we must run.
View my complete profile
http://www.formspring.me/emmabeancherry
Blog Archive
►
2012
(6)
►
August
(1)
►
July
(1)
►
April
(1)
►
March
(1)
►
February
(1)
►
January
(1)
►
2011
(36)
►
December
(1)
►
September
(2)
►
August
(4)
►
May
(1)
►
April
(4)
►
March
(7)
►
February
(13)
►
January
(4)
▼
2010
(269)
►
December
(11)
►
November
(13)
►
October
(22)
►
September
(24)
▼
August
(16)
No title
Spots to Hide Ourselves
Names
-
No title
Written
\\
The End of the Season
To the Exhibit!
The World and Her Ways
I miss this girl.
Rationality, Technicality, Fuck Reality
Butterflies
Flight To Chicago
►
July
(13)
►
June
(27)
►
May
(26)
►
April
(44)
►
March
(27)
►
February
(36)
►
January
(10)
►
2009
(34)
►
December
(5)
►
November
(3)
►
October
(11)
►
September
(9)
►
August
(1)
►
May
(5)
►
2008
(9)
►
October
(2)
►
May
(7)