i’m weak weak weak. i know know know. i hate hate hate to show show show. so speak speak speak real low low low and keep keep keep me close close close.
i feel like i go through this cycle where i listen to tons and tons of music and then suddenly stop listening to any music at all and pump out song after song of my own. we’re probably due for an album soon.
i’m like a word volcano.
like, sobriety doesn’t even matter. just don’t creep people out too much and get scabby. no one gives a fuck if some bitch smokes the wee or occasionally drinks herself to sleep on the sidewalk. that bitch’s sobriety isn’t even taken into consideration. but once the bitch sniffs a line or smokes something less familiar, regardless of the relative safety or circumstance, we better start timing shit. and that glass of wine at dinner was a relapse.
no. shut your face, you dumb slut. it doesn’t really matter.
i find i am referring to myself as diva more and more every day.
in poetry like shakespeare, sonnet- i’m love drunk like vodka, tonic- hooked on you like snoop on chronic, you and me together’d be the shit, colonic.
best rapper in seattle right now.
i’m a crazy motherfuck. i’mma be straight up with y’all, ‘cause i know only like 2 people will read this. it’s 1 in the morning and it’s about to be christmas. i hope more than anything i wake up to macaulay culkin, bags of drugs, an acceptance letter to a college, and a spaniel. i’m 100% certain none of those things will be there. but let a bitch be wishful, mmmkay?
tell me that doesn’t sound flawless. mac is a dreamboat and i really love drugs. toss in a little k, little h, some wee, and maybe some vy just to balance things out. let a diva have the slightest hope for the future with a college letter. it’s depressing me that it’s almost as likely that i wake up to macaulay culkin as it is an acceptance letter. and let a biddy have a dog. those punks love you even when you’re calling them fat and stupid. i just want to have a little dog named squeaky fromme.
i’m gonna be a drag queen.
sometimes giving up is the only thing you can do.
morphine, morphine, heroin. hustle hard so we can spend. spend it all, spend the night. we can have a pillow fight, pillow fight. pills and all. oxy, e, and adderall. is that all? no it’s not! don’t forget the jello shots! don’t forget the ketamine! your love is an amphetamine. so stop my heart, hope i die. stick a needle in my thigh. don’t look down, we’re too high. damn, guys, my mouth is dry.
she held my hand.
she didn’t even let go.
i’m fucking crazy ha ha ha
i’m getting away with murder and you’re just jealous!
it’s gonna break my ribs.
Bestie: “Yeah, there was a sign language interpreter.”
Me: “Just toss some light up gloves on her, turn the lights off, and it’s a rave.”
Girl: “Can I get a ride with you to school everyday?”
Me: “I’mma be real, I do a lot of drugs in the morning.”
one time i fell off a 25 foot inflatable bullshit mountain thing into a lake. it was a total belly flop. that shit hurt. i just remembered it.
Here am I, standing 5’7”, 123 pounds,
I am 18 years of age.
Here am I, standing in front of walmart, loitering as always, half a cigarette burning in my fingers I’m only half interested in finishing.
It’s only half worth mentioning, i guess.
I was best half a year ago
Now my glass isn’t even half full
and I’m not even half hopeful.