charmarushka

i don't like to think quite a lot because i just get disoriented by my thoughts. they become so real and hyper and disturbing that my life becomes a living nightmarish fantasy. but then i realized that my mind is like a fertile soil. though it is fed by piles and piles of dung, it brings forth life and sustains the creatures that depend on it. so in essence, every living creature is fed by that thing that disgusts us. that thing that we call funny names to describe a deplorable mess we get ourselves into. that thing that we call shit. you see, not everything should be beautiful for it to merit our appreciation. sometimes,

heaven is what they call "happy hunting ground", and i don't really understand why. all i know is that, it is where bliss is eternal and hearts are never cold.

garbed in an ill- fitting, hot pink lola panty, a matching 2 -cups- too- big velvet bra and acid green polka dot ankle boots, the anti-misogynist saunters down the narrow street of Kupal Street. she's the sweetest thing to look at: her wavy, waist-length hair sways as her hips shimmy here and there.her face is not very striking and yet people are drawn to her appeal. her eyes are big, black, and expressive. her eyelashes are not very long and curled but they are thick enough to emphasize her puppy-like peepers. her mouth is a little small and full and her nose, short and ungraceful. her forehead is too wide and her cheeks too round and ampl