I’m sorry I can’t be prettier

walk with me a bit so i can smell whats keeping you alive. please dont recycle me. dont put me somewhere that has more of what you think i might need. i get a crush on anyone who looks like a therapist so please be mindful of making this memory a “safe space.” ive sat on so much of it im

splintered. you? ever been crazy, then cursed, then calloused? ever been to a place where you

recoil when your recollections make you feel like a monster? just because youre a bit of a different dance and youve been having to waltz with these weirdos for so long that youve forgotten who’s really the weird one. i joke with myself that its all a joke but really its something

because i have to have a part in it. i dont want. i never have.after nine months of solitude ive come to the conclusion that nine more months might wipe me out like a plague or a prison riot or having to continuously walk down a hallway of heaven crafted by the curators of hell. if its too heavy, drop it. no problems here. i can beam for you. make it memorable. i just dont want to. what I really want to say is im sorry i cant be a bit prettier. i really do try to take it all in but the only thing i want to do is take the first train out this tiny, terrible town. i was always meant to be walking in the woods. barefoot and blistered. i like the sound of the crunching around when you know that its nature, not glass. its gross to grieve so i spit into the sky hoping to exorcise something sordid. i hate it but hey, we all got our ways. i could go on but who wants to die in a diatribe.

Wabsite