by Rachel Lynch in

Miss Blonde, ex-wife of James Bond. My spanish heart loves your aussie bones. Full moon and a loaded gun, chasing dreams that we've created in our heads. Sex, drugs and violence, reality is a  voyeurism competition. Doubts only make us stronger, who the fuck's gonna tell us otherwise? What's pressure to a go-getter?

Take my hand, cause we're leaving right now. Forget the do or die, just loosen your suit and tie. Because somewhere there's a room full of men in suits looking up at rows of numbers, arrows pointing down at the fear that's in their eyes. So terrified that we might make a mistake, but is that really any way to live today? Even angels tell lies on their bad days in a world that's man-made. Fucking with my pokerface, my therapist says I'm all high-risk behavior and no censor.

He's fucking right. But, I get fucking bored... easily.