THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Look, every time I think I'm totally finished with being really fucked up, being really damaged, really affected, that I've totally cycled out angst and torture, that I'm a fucking grown up now and can handle shit- it runs back in and bites my ankles, you'll never be okay, this is never fucking finished, this is it, you gasping for air on your bedroom floor praying that a single person, a single fucking person anywhere, anytime, could get an inch closer to you, could be walking in your direction to get you out, to get you through,
And don't ever fucking forget that you're not moving 6000 miles away by yourself for bigger opportunities you are running as fast as you can for your fucking life.
I don't have a life that touches anyone else's anymore, I don't intersect anywhere
What drives you into desperate acts- I keep telling myself that you're fine these aren't things to cry about these aren't things to hate, this is nothing, this isn't real life