hello did u know that alcohol is illegal for lil kids bc it fucks with ur frontal cortex's development. the frontal cortex in question does not finish its development until 25 and yet all countries' legal drinking ages are 16-18 (and 21 in the usa bc yall r pussies). the government is playing the trick of pretending to care for our brain by illegalising alcohol for kids but still having a legal age limit too low, but we dont care bc the media has brain washed us enough to believe that we will never fit in until we drink like all our buds, further damaging our frontal cortex (which is in charge of making good decisions), futher making bad decisions, further being gullible enough to feed off advertising and hollywood propaganda

that is all i hope u like this piece im having terrible writers block
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"i hope our kids have your eyes."

you would have never said that. rejection of intimacy has become the norm- the movement in my joints and the rattle of my bones.

when i was 13 i would measure my calories by comparing everything i ate to a mars bar. a pack of malteasers was equivalent to a single bar. 3 apples were a single bar. so i moved my joints in plaid skirts and rattled my bones with mean girls and gained 20 pounds instead of losing them and all of this sounds like a lie but it is not.

i still haven't lost the weight. this is why everything i will ever do will be fucked.

i type this at 11 p.m. in logan's bathroom as the cheap wooden door rattles from what can only be described as basement EDM music, mixed by a computer engineer major and dropped on soundcloud with his real name, not even a trying-to-be-black mc name. i think i will be kissed this evening, with whiskey fingertips grabbing me by the neck, always ready for me. the bleakness and mundanity of getting drunk at a legal age ruins the mood and pushes us to spiral into a quarter life crisis mid-fuck. we are ready to die at 27 so i buy a white lighter and smoke a joint with the stoner kids in high school bathrooms. i am quick to cry with these kids in these bathrooms in the same way i am crying in logan's bathroom currently into a red wine bottle. they think the old lady is crazy, let me hang a little longer because they feel sorry for me and they think my tits are big. i'm glad we have the same initials because when i write that first letter in the smoke i am a narcissist and no one calls the cops.

i'm so sorry i ever loved you, now you will never die. i try not to write about him because he deserves to die. not in a mean way, in a fullfilling way. he will get the job, the wife, the kids, the white picket fence, the backyard, the mortgage, the annoying in-laws, the hot nannies, the terrible teachers, the weed charges when his kids turn 18, the pregnancy scares, the straight a's and b's (but not the gay ones), the grandchildren who he will tell about me. then he will die peacefully in his sleep and every year his granddaughter will leave roses on his grave because he never loved flowers enough so roses were his favorite.

you will have to live through me and all my diva scandals and the hissy-fits. i will always apologise.

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lordes album is too good i hope i can write like her someday