from the walls of my bedroon emanates a force
that crushes me, wrinkles me. all i do is read, lie down under the light.
to people i seem problem-free, hard-working, all-knowing, just incredibly tired.
i am going to tell them that i am ill. i feel ill. i am drifting on a sea of hot air...
i told my friend in a quite excited voice that i used to (cut things), because she did too
she sees in this: trust, confidence. i see: word-vomit, extreme boredom. but i don't regret it.
out of school i mostly wear gray shirts. i take off my glasses, makes the world is more tolerable.
you'd see me out of context (hiding behind words) and you wouldn't know where the beast is hiding.
all i want is to sit in a café, drink, talk, scribble, listen to music, feel calm for a change. (toute seule)
four years ago, i was going back home from a day of waiting at the hospital.
i don't know if my parents noticed that today is october 10th, but i, i sure did.
current layout or
virgin suicides?