Page#4
I can't keep my jaw from hanging.
My skin is burning.
Fictionettes on tv sway their hips and invite you in. They tell me I'll never amount to it.
I know. Was I ever interested in them, or was it pure desperation?
The latter seems a bit more fitting.
Everyone is so obsessed with sexual favors.
Genitals are of the greatest importance.
I make no sense. This is why I hate to be a teenager.
I've become a hypocrite. Remember when we first started smoking weed? We promised him we would never do it. I told myself it was stupid, that I wouldn't do it. Once. Two quick hits on a rooftop.
Love. Safer than my previous vices.
Not so much anymore. They'd see. They'd know everything. Or maybe that's my paranoia again.
I wake up to shaking hands and an aching chest.
My brain doesn't work the way it used to. But it's an escape.
I don't have to think about why males love my body and hate my brain, or that I've never told my mother "I love you," or that I wonder everyday what life would be like if he survived instead of me.
Hide. Fill the sugar cup. Tell myself to stay away.
Annnnnd I found the tussin. Spinning. My fingers don't feel connected to my body. Laced cigs. Oh Lifetime, there's no such thing as an individual. I'm losing track of time.
My skin is burning.
Fictionettes on tv sway their hips and invite you in. They tell me I'll never amount to it.
I know. Was I ever interested in them, or was it pure desperation?
The latter seems a bit more fitting.
Everyone is so obsessed with sexual favors.
Genitals are of the greatest importance.
I make no sense. This is why I hate to be a teenager.
I've become a hypocrite. Remember when we first started smoking weed? We promised him we would never do it. I told myself it was stupid, that I wouldn't do it. Once. Two quick hits on a rooftop.
Love. Safer than my previous vices.
Not so much anymore. They'd see. They'd know everything. Or maybe that's my paranoia again.
I wake up to shaking hands and an aching chest.
My brain doesn't work the way it used to. But it's an escape.
I don't have to think about why males love my body and hate my brain, or that I've never told my mother "I love you," or that I wonder everyday what life would be like if he survived instead of me.
Hide. Fill the sugar cup. Tell myself to stay away.
Annnnnd I found the tussin. Spinning. My fingers don't feel connected to my body. Laced cigs. Oh Lifetime, there's no such thing as an individual. I'm losing track of time.