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Gladiator shoes

dont believe empty words

15 November 1985
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its febraury
there's a hole in the wall that fits a golden doorknob. smoke triggers emptiness in the brain. she organises her game into a japanese fan. cover your face, a bit of mascara, a bit of natural blush, hair flowing down. he phsycoanalyses and tags on a label. extavert. who would have known. thankfully now she knows how to stop at the red lights. thankfully.

(she's a cross between a rebel and a wallflower. she's sometimes free, and sometimes bound. she changes as soon as she knows who she is.)

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