(no subject)
I am not anything worth even the dimmest shade of expression offered in a misused blurb.I never want to think again because those thought things make me talk and make me as outwardly awkward as I have always sort of felt. But I manage to have periods in which I am someone and feel things and act according to SOME sense of order. These days I just arrange and rearrange my fucking makeup bag as if I really have become carved dollface and plaster fingers, lacquered over and pocked with googly eyes.
I dont have the internet at my new place (my would-be, supposed-to-be escape). And I don't want to communicate anyway. I want to be alone.
I dont have the internet at my new place (my would-be, supposed-to-be escape). And I don't want to communicate anyway. I want to be alone.