i love being single except every few months when i want to be loved so bad that it eats me alive and makes me physically ill for two weeks but like the rest of the time im chill

sometimes i see an opinion i disagree with, and from a combination of wanting to keep up appearances, avoid flak, and cut to the heart of the issue, i draft a series of increasingly abstract responses, eventually culminating in typing out "falsehoods aren't true", which, in a perfect act of autofellatio, deletes itself

Realizing the depression is not seasonal is like: Wow! What a beautiful flower! The birds are singing! I sure do love spring! I think I am fundamentally unlovable as a person.

they call it amtrak because the trains am on the trak

did mitski ever find out what to do after you've been big and small and big and small again and still nobody wants you