I'm tired of looking like a slut.
This journal is dead.

So I need a job.
Prostitution just isn't an option at the moment.
Tell me what to do.

On lockdown like a penitentiaryyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Man. They suck at punishing me.
Grounded from therapy? Whaaaaaaat.

I'd like to hold her
head under waaaater.

I never believed in fairies.

"I can trick myself into gettting into critique, I just have to tell myself 'There's candy at the end!'"

I wonder what things would be like if I could do whatever I wanted.

I mean like, other than better.

I'm only doing this because Jesus told me to.

I feel like warm, melted snow. I need someone to drink me from a paper cone.

I'll be gone until next Friday.

"I'll fight like hell
to hide that I've given up."

Silent, silent, silent.

With all your fucking noise.