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I don’t know how you expect to grow up to be a writer when you haven’t the smallest amount of passion in your body. I don’t know who would ever want to read someone who happily refers to themselves as boring. You have created an identity out of being boring. You exist on a level of dryness where deserts feel wet. Where cactus spikes feel like satin. You could dehydrate a fish in the ocean. You took boring, cut open a door, shoved all your shit inside, and lived in it. All I’m saying is don’t quit your day job.

I wish other people would admit to themselves they had a drug problem instead of living this 20 something year old life of complacency. We all need to get better together.

I know I know, take it a day at a time, but shit casually doing drugs is almost cultural at this point

I swallowed a belly full of cough syrup after promising my girl I wouldn’t. Now I’m sitting in a McDonald’s, spread out like it’s my home, listening to Mac Miller, not doing my homework.

Just because I understand feelings doesn’t mean I don’t think they’re creepy

The thing is, I stand up for myself even when it feels like I shouldn’t, and my mom says that’s a great quality to have

“All secrets sleep in winter clothes” - neutral milk hotel