//^< •}^\\

ill be like “ive had it” and two seconds later i will start enduring

it gets to a point that is just weirder if they didn't fuck

you did all this and it was not even because you wanted to bang him? weirdo

a slaughterhouse. an outlet mall. slot machines. fear of god. you know the usual

"it's just stress" oh thank god, it's just the silent killer that slowly kills you, perfectly harmless, no need to worry

Writers have two modes and they are "i haven't written in three weeks and i am rotting from the inside and everything feels wrong and i don't know who i am anymore" and "i wrote for four hours straight and forgot to eat and it's dark outside and when did that happen and i feel like a god" and there is nothing in between. no chill. no medium setting. just famine or feast and a very confused nervous system.

They should let me go into every building I want just to look around