we're guilty til we die
and we all know i hate it. and i complain about it. but i hate it so! hate everything it does to m. [every flinch of pain in my stomach, to every screaming backache, to every friggin two and a half hours i have to rush off and take care of it] honestly don't we all hate it?
today has been fantastic. blow out my fucking brains and kill me already fantastic of course.
i have so much to say. so much to say ask. please.
i'd love to talk over coffee. sitting outside. under the stars. but you are nowhere near. so i'll wander off lonesome again with my words to the wind.
forgetfulness. it bothers me. i do it to much.
told twice today. twice. twice. you are right. and it's ok. i guess i don't know any of you.
i am going to take every mean and hurtful thing said to me (ex:you are fat) and believe it. that way i will hate myself out of exsistence.
isn't life grand?