Eh, My God.
You know what I love? Apparently getting fucking wasted and telling the truth. And my anxiety is as keen as a muthafuckin fighting knife that I wish I could stick right through my chest sometimes, because that would be easier than...all this shit that I've been doing. I wake up in the night, and I feel like, the whole world is right in my plexus pointing up at the night, constellatory flights, and my mind might just fly like Icarus' son, too close to the light. Five in the morning is only good for 3 things: fucking, drinking and evil doing. Guess what I'm doing.