♥ vision of me and four ♥

i draw in sharp bursts of air into these lungs but yet each breath feels like the last; unforgiving, cold, stale, just like i was trapped in my own cannister of stale air in a cheap, yellow plastic bottle.

i don’t know if i made a mistake, neither do i care. all i care about is the next hedonistic pursuit. i want to be like dorian gray where every mistake i make shows not on me, my face, or my heart, but a painting locked up in an attic. i am slowly making my conscience disposable like a paper napkin. i no longer feel pity for every drunk destroyed destitute aborigine who asks me for a coin or a fag.

the only innocent thing left in the world is really an unborn child. how cruel is it to make one, give birth to one, and watch the blank slate of innocence slowly grow black……………..

i want to move to a cave with a random handsome stranger with good genes and make and raise four beautiful babies someday. (: