sometimes i look at the crap i write, and i go, really? fanny, i'm going to fuck you up. there's reality, and then there's the bullshit you weave when you're riding some pretty space in you. yeah, it's a romance in its own way. you change the party-line & the vocabulary, but you are still a liar. you have no loyalties to beauty or love. you have no loyalties to anything but your whims & gratifications. fanny, i'd fuck you because you're hot and are made up of strange dichotomies. that's the prettier way of saying, inconsistent. boys look, and sometimes they call you chaos, but you know that they're just stupid and too dumb to accept that you're mercurial and not a muse of any kind. they want a girl to embody some eternal ideal, and you just want a body & psyche to play with until you want something else. romance is your bitch and territory, and you don't give a shit.