Roop and his mood at 13.54 hours Location- Hostel

i can`t listen to a love song ..when your thoughts keeps sweeping like a janitor. i realized it sooner or later how that harlot sings for herself .Every now and then .not anymore after that last whorefuck. i am still dreaming. renting to unleash the fuckity fuck. am stuck to the feral music , i am a thrasher and what more can u churn out of me. my cerebrum is playing some riffs and my veins are perfect for a perfect 5th chord. i am dithered and the horrorcore grunting and squealing of rhandy blythe is giving me eargasm . spit and spit .the love word seems liek a disaster. a masochist by profession. a art i am honing . i still think when you spelled your boo-bitch-craft, you nasty bitch. or am too kiddish watching disney channels.