A hopefully hopeless hypochondriac. It smells like blood in my nose; so much so that I pick at the tender flesh inside of it trying to pick out pieces of death.
The thought occurred, while outside smoking a cigarette- laughing at the idea of revenge- that weatherwoman and men are quite ridiculous.
Either dead or dying but never really alive or living.
There is most likely no such thing as crime- certainly not in any official sense. It is what you make it. Such is this existence.
Furthermore, in the seemingly unlikely event that somebody viciously murders me in the first, the third, or the eightieth degree, I beg thee to forgive them.
Humanity.
Dismiss of all charges, in fact- if anything, give them all my yearbooks, belongings, and other nauseating nostalgic trinkets. Also, give the lucky person my birthday. Throw them a party every year for me. Make them a gift of my memory.
O, to love everything! Such misery.
The thought occurred, while outside smoking a cigarette- laughing at the idea of revenge- that weatherwoman and men are quite ridiculous.
Either dead or dying but never really alive or living.
There is most likely no such thing as crime- certainly not in any official sense. It is what you make it. Such is this existence.
Furthermore, in the seemingly unlikely event that somebody viciously murders me in the first, the third, or the eightieth degree, I beg thee to forgive them.
Humanity.
Dismiss of all charges, in fact- if anything, give them all my yearbooks, belongings, and other nauseating nostalgic trinkets. Also, give the lucky person my birthday. Throw them a party every year for me. Make them a gift of my memory.
O, to love everything! Such misery.
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