look at the two of them. dressed to the nines. silks from france and cotton from egypt. chanel on them both. they’re at a party neither of them was invited to, but so damn good looking that no one in their right mind would turn them away at the door. the woman - titties free under that dress, scoping out women in salacious flapper dresses in gloves created from 100,000 insects’ life work. the man - smoking a cigarette he took out from the mouth of one of the millionaires at the party, saying nothing but giving him a slow smile and a wink. the flower in his lapel is fake. dying plants in your clothing is such a hideous fashion. the both of them haven’t spoken to anyone there, though everyone has tried. they stand on the stairs staring at the heterosexual proles gathered below them together, and the two of them wonder if those fools realize that they’re outclassed, that in every way, they’ve been outdone. they leave early with a bottle of champagne in each fist, and no one stops them.
This is the most extra analysis I have ever seen of anything ever and I agree with all of it
Hey. Sup. I’m Raven, your acid bath princess of the darkness. I’m Tara. And we’re sitting here in Tara’s room rocking out to MCR and celebrating 2009 or the new year which we don’t really understand why people are making such a big deal about it because really, one more year is one more year that everyone’s closer to death (death). Whatever suit yourself humanity. Congratulations. Yeah, when you’re closer to death.
