(no subject)
the thought of ending this god forsaken year, without you next to me, is enough to kill a small whale. have your fun. tomorrow will be the same for me. working all fucking day with the paranoia of being "that guy." i'm not scene enough to listen to jet black new year tonight like every fucking high school piece of shit is doing... in the bedrooms located within their divorced mommy or daddy's house. i'm glad you are who you are. i could never ask for anything more. to me there is nothing more. at least your belt will never match your shoelaces and your hair, but someday you'll turn 40 and i'll be dead. fuck. we're the culture that cried wolf.