#comedown scribbles

how do i force myself to exist outside the comfort and confines of my internet faces? each new mold built around a facet of my obsessions, pasted together by shaking hands with all the elegance of a kindergartner's amphetamine-fueled macaroni art waltzing with a slow-motion train wreck. i fixate on the colors and let them tell me where to go. greens sing melancholy more often than blue, but blue is the wrong kind of calm. far, far too quiet, but still humming, buzzing, maddening. the warmth and soft tones of pastels are not lost on me, but baby girl pink has never been my style. one. two. three. four. five. six. the perfect number.