Sluts in Love

I hardly ever smoke and when I do it's because of stress. Sometimes I sit in the dark in my kitchen and suck on those motherfucking cigarettes like there's no tomorrow. When I was younger and whenever I got upset I would grab a package of cookies or crackers and eat them in a corner of my room and turn off all the lights. Those were the days before I discovered the beauty of nicotine.

It's almost my birthday. Fuck. It's the one fucking day of the year I hate so fucking much. There are too many negative emotions associated with that day. If Rosaline finds out I swear I'll fucking lose it.

Carnegee already wrote her suicide note. She doesn't know that she's too much of a fucking wimp to follow through with anything but I think she's on the right track. I wonder where all of my shit would go to. Defiantly not her. If anything goes to Roger I'll fucking kill him. Maybe they'll donate it. I bet Shitler himself could feed a fucking tribe in Africa. He whimpers like he can hear my fucking thoughts.

"I love you, Shit," I say because I've lost my marbles. It's nearly three in the morning. I don't really sleep. Ever. After school I take lengthy naps that sometimes I don't wake up until ten at night. Therefore I am unable to sleep at a normal time. "Once I'm eighteen and out of this shit town, you're coming right with me. We'll go to fucking Canada or something. You can chase all the fucking geese you fucking lay sight on."

In a matter of two weeks I'll be eighteen. It'll also be the anniversary of my mother's death. How fucking depressing. Poor Paris. Maybe Rosaline will give me pity sex.