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.

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