there's a lot happening. and it's mostly bad stuff. my intestines are tangled up in clumsy knots that grind and trash at my belly lining. I chase my vodka down with Pepto-bismol. S is starving herself and somehow in her nutrient-deprived brain she thinks it's good, what she's doing. I can't talk sense into her, she just says that I am the one who's fucked up and polluted. At least you can't use my ribs as a goddamn xylophone. When I first met S I had a crush on her. The way she closed her eyes when she smiled just made my whole body feel carbonated.
My damn cousin has been touched by the hand of God and that hand fist-fucked her.
My dad hates me and I hate him. He's a fucking scumbag Scientologist Casanova loser.
And she says I must finally terminally understand that she doesn't love me.
Oh, this post made me think of pasta carbonara. Sorry love.
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