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©2009 ~thedecay
:iconthedecay:

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:iconangelofyaoi:
lol, I'm like that to when I write my books!

--
Why does it rain?
Why do the drops fall with my tears?
Why does the thunder bang in time to your heart?
Why must the lightning illuminate your face as you die in my arms?
Why...?
:iconcoffeeshopfellatio:
i feel your pain

--
I need more subscribers.
:iconfreshfarhan:
I saw the first box, then I saw the second and I ROFL'ed my a** off =D =D

--
:3

Painting, n.
The art of protecting flat surfaces from the weather and exposing them to the critic.
:iconthedecay:
Haha, if only these weren't entirely true.
:iconopticalphenomenon:
<3 I know how you feel. Everything I try to write seems to have been written already by Gibbard. And he does it so much better. Only thing that's left for me is to be wordless while listening to the emptying power of his songs

--
\"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. \"
-Scott Adams
:iconsamaelsevanhadar:
That's exactly how I end up every damn weekend. .___.

--
I just close my eyes and wait until the very end
To face this dreadful day
Hiding in this room and submerged by the glowing dawn
I can't feel but regrets
----
In the cold light
In the cold light of the day

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October 13
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