And when I killed her it was so easy that I wanted to kill her again.
In the morning when I wake up I am petrified and can’t move. How can one expect me to read Camus during something called free period?
Woke up with a headache and thirty missed calls and a fresh Kimya Dawson tattoo and no underwear. Spring Break ‘12, wish you were here, wish you didn’t go and end it all.
And on the third day she rose from her grave and graced the earth with her presence yet again, dragging a bottle of Svedka, chaining parlies, pounding 5 hour energies, and heel-stomping every Todd that wandered into her path.
I’m writing my will on a three dollar bill. Todd hasn’t rang for days.
We’re going to a party. It’s a birthday party. It’s your birthday party. Happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very BARF.
Cat Power, Schizophrenia Is Weighing Me Down
If I take the train into the city I’ll have to explain it to Todd and if I have to explain it to Todd I’ll have to explain it to myself and I still don’t know why I do things for no reason at all.
(hail mary, full of grace, i found half an adderall at the bottom of my fendi)
I woke up gasping and over it and four cups of coffee and chained parliaments and I tried to cry but I could not cry and the overcast sky smudged my eyeliner. I’m falling apart and it’s not even 9 AM. I want a vodka. I want a radio.
In the morning, in the city, I open the windows and dance to the hum of the passersby. After rush hour, however, it all quiets down. And no amount of xanax or La Sera can quiet the other thoughts. Maybe I’ll call Todd…
Four cups of coffee, two drafted missed connections, one true crime themed pinterest account, waiting on an eight ball, ignored three texts from Todd, still want a boyfriend, still want silence.
