death-of-a-discodancer: I’d love to touch, I’m afraid that I might self-combust. Now excuse me while I lock myself into my room and don’t leave until I know every juicy detail of Morrissey’s life so far.
death-of-a-discodancer: I’d love to touch, I’m afraid that I might self-combust. Now excuse me while I lock myself into my room and don’t leave until I know every juicy detail of Morrissey’s life so far.
