i'm really sad when i see other people of my age who have so much natural talent and beauty, let alone drive. it's not just jealousy, it's a horrible longing. wishin' and hopin' and dreamin'
i could rub out all my senses sometimes, just to be further from people i love
selfdramatizing rubbish
i like escaping in books and music
but i also the realm of superficiality where i can judge myself most easily, pretending my ridiculous whimsical purchases will make me someone happier, and someone different. not beige, not watery, not a mollusc or a flea or a pea brained pigeon
slimy traces on the pavement
molluscs, their pathetic pace
but if you lean in very closely
they leave silver with their slithers
i'm making dinner, what are you having?
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