I’m so fucking lonely. I crave socialization so much.
But I also crave bliss. Some reason, right now, I really want to feel really really good. On demand.
I miss kratom.
I’ve never done heroin. I wonder.
In a mix of writing poetry, prepared to work (it doesn’t matter what that means because it would just end up being a laundry list of subjects and activities) and I’m starting to realize no one cares just as much as I don’t care.
My empathy was broken.
This post is too long.
But I have no prison.
You really don’t care about me.
I know it as a fact now.
And I hate you for it.
What else is new…
Laundry list. Yeh.