“he had a habit of lighting too many cigarettes, all of them stained with things he was too afraid to say out loud and things he was too afraid to make real. at night, he would sit on his window sill and watch his thoughts drift off of his tongue and disappear into the night in wisps of smoke, only the embers in the air and the stains on his hands to remember them by.”

“Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.”

pony: *yelling at johnny that his parents don’t love/want him*

Darry: Are you high?