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welcome to a repetitive meditation of a twisted psyche.
i'm billy. new york. 21 years old. gay waiter. i read. i watch. i listen. i think.
amy winehouse, coffee, drugs, books, movies, music
i admire courage & i detest ignorance.
i have a brain that contentedly, knowingly, excessively remains in a drug-induced haze.
nothing is more loathsome than reality. escapism is my religion.
i am the prince of all things nocturnal; my mind is governed by shadows.
and i'm the paragon of infinite potential gone down the shitter.
www.facebook.com/bilbo.patronum

first of all, i know the following post is pretty ridiculous. but then again, so am i, so i’m gonna construct it regardless. if there was one element of any kind of religion that i’d say i have some kind of faith in, it would be angels. and even though i never met my beloved amy, and she’s sadly passed away, i’ve never felt closer to her. i’m certain that because of the insane devotion i’ve had to her since i first became aware of her, including having her tattooed on my arm, she’s looking after me right now. i’m not religious or excessively spiritual in any way, but i’m absolutely positive amy winehouse is an angel - not just any angel, but my own personal angel. nobody loved amy more than i always have, and nobody needs an angel more than i do - and i take consolation in the idea that she’s watching over me. i know it’s borderline insane, but you were warned. 

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