the good thing about me is that you can not talk to me for 3 weeks and then talk to me and I’ll be fine and still care about you the same way I did before
the bad thing is that I do that to people and they don’t understand that sometimes I just don’t feel like interacting with people.
listening to my heart never got me very far.
i haven’t had any inspiration in almost two years. it’s been dull in my head and heart for a while now but yay for excitement!
i love to fuck with my lipstick on. smudging against the shoulders, leaving marks on your mouth and fingers. once you’ve washed off you still find little markings of me. on your legs and in your hair, near your neck and teeth. for weeks i stay a part of your skin and for a while you can’t seem to wash me off.
I think about dying but I don’t want to die, not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic, theres so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second, even now i’m writing this when I should be out there, I should be living. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell i’m doing or how to get out.