My home was now a crime scene, everything I owned was evidence. I watched the light go out on the bright, outgoing, creative 22 year old and a ghostlike shadow take her place.
The plastic label seals around my head, every breath of the word drawing it in tighter and tighter until it molds to my skin, where it can strangle me without anything seeming amiss.
Apparently the boys felt ripped off that the “Thank You for all your help” drinks they had bought me at the Clubhouse bar had not purchased my pussy. Or even a BJ in an empty stall.
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
If Santa isn’t real, there really is no point in trying to believe in God anymore.
I wanted to marry her and then die a week later so she’d write great songs about how I fucked like an experimental Viagra-fueled monkey
All the while, I kept saying to myself, This should be legal everywhere! It's a miracle drug! It was much better than taking opiates and ruining my concentration, or taking nothing, and just riding the bad times out.
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