jue

dry river bed

these things that I dream of were never mine I sit in my room and mouth conversations. they’re not real. I haven’t cleaned my room in days. My floor is covered in clothes. Your hand glimmers. Your smile is big. Mine ought to be too. My tummy is full of food, there is a roof over my head and a warm bed and loving family. but I can’t stop. I can’t stop. It’s not in my hands. It’s in yours but none of this means anything. This is my problem. I don’t solve my problems. This problem is small. There is worse that could happen but I need to get over myself now. I need to get over myself. I need to get over myself. I need to get over myself.

little porcelain babies dance at our feet. the cost of it all.

concrete

i love mbappé sooo much

everyone took communion today

not right now kitten the walls are closing in on daddy

research shows that if you have a great holiday then come home, eat a fist full of sand, listen to lots of country music, drink decaf coffee, eat only ibs trigger foods, do the stair master, tan in the park with a book alone, crush on a short man, have a spiritual experience because your patheticness reaches new lows meaning you cant quite keep going without any sort of crutch and doom-scroll for 3 hours a day you will be sad.

i promise i’ll shave my hair off, eat only red meat, throw my phone in a ditch, take everything off my walls, stop laughing, talk no nonsense, meditate and burn all my books if you just give me a little more material to work with.

you can’t be expected to wait.

melt