six miles south.
Dirty laundry is only good metaphorically.
And I am a master of mastering metaphor.
Sometimes even I surprise myself
with my resilience and lack of poise.
Hell hath no fury, all that.
Using spell check means you lose a bit of your humanity in the process.
I'm no machine, man. No machine.
I've given up on the concept of happy
and moved onto content with the hand I was dealt years ago.
Everything is my fault, and I accept this.
Did you know the suicide hotline is initially an automated response?
That's fucked upppp.
What if I was dying right there?
Whateverrrrr
Commadore Barry.
Tacony Palmyra.
Ben Franklin.
Betsey Ross.
Walt Whitman.
Burlington-Bristol.
I think that's all of them.
it would be ironic, because I'm a hydrophobe.
I think the Walt Whitman is most appropriate, since I fancy myself a writer.
(should've taken that book deal, idiot, you'd be SOMEONE by now.)
Oh well.
We are defined by the choices we make or choose not to make.
Character and the contents therein can only be measured in this way.
Cowards run.
The mediocre stay to see what's going to happen.
The heroes make what's going to happen happen for the mediocre to see and be inspired by, while the cowards run.
You're all kinds of beautiful.
And I probably will miss aspects of being happy.
But I am a mediocre coward.
I'm running while looking back to see if I'm missing out, just in case I want to turn around.
I haven't the internal mechanisms necessary for heroics.
Plain Jane vanilla.
I want to disappear and start a new, extravagant life in a foreign country.
Shh! don't tell.
My biggest fear is going to bed and waking up alone for the rest of my life.
I'm so insecure it's disgusting,
and what's more - you all fell for the "fact" that I'm some brave, strong person.
There is still blood in this veins,
I've not been filled with wired and stone yet.
This has meant nothing.
Will mean nothing.
I'm batshit Tom Cruise nutty.
Why, God, why?
This is the thanks I get for going to church.
I need to check into the hospital, because I can really, honestly feel myself losing whatever sloppy handshake grasp I had on myself.
I would only hand out run-on sentences, were I a judge.
Faith.
True.
And I am a master of mastering metaphor.
Sometimes even I surprise myself
with my resilience and lack of poise.
Hell hath no fury, all that.
Using spell check means you lose a bit of your humanity in the process.
I'm no machine, man. No machine.
I've given up on the concept of happy
and moved onto content with the hand I was dealt years ago.
Everything is my fault, and I accept this.
Did you know the suicide hotline is initially an automated response?
That's fucked upppp.
What if I was dying right there?
Whateverrrrr
Commadore Barry.
Tacony Palmyra.
Ben Franklin.
Betsey Ross.
Walt Whitman.
Burlington-Bristol.
I think that's all of them.
it would be ironic, because I'm a hydrophobe.
I think the Walt Whitman is most appropriate, since I fancy myself a writer.
(should've taken that book deal, idiot, you'd be SOMEONE by now.)
Oh well.
We are defined by the choices we make or choose not to make.
Character and the contents therein can only be measured in this way.
Cowards run.
The mediocre stay to see what's going to happen.
The heroes make what's going to happen happen for the mediocre to see and be inspired by, while the cowards run.
You're all kinds of beautiful.
And I probably will miss aspects of being happy.
But I am a mediocre coward.
I'm running while looking back to see if I'm missing out, just in case I want to turn around.
I haven't the internal mechanisms necessary for heroics.
Plain Jane vanilla.
I want to disappear and start a new, extravagant life in a foreign country.
Shh! don't tell.
My biggest fear is going to bed and waking up alone for the rest of my life.
I'm so insecure it's disgusting,
and what's more - you all fell for the "fact" that I'm some brave, strong person.
There is still blood in this veins,
I've not been filled with wired and stone yet.
This has meant nothing.
Will mean nothing.
I'm batshit Tom Cruise nutty.
Why, God, why?
This is the thanks I get for going to church.
I need to check into the hospital, because I can really, honestly feel myself losing whatever sloppy handshake grasp I had on myself.
I would only hand out run-on sentences, were I a judge.
Faith.
True.