Moods this week-
I’ll never be the first choice.
Not even for myself.
The soul slithers, snake-like impressions in the mind.
I fucking hate cooking.
Is that disturbed?
Never trust the people who laugh too hard, walk too slow, and talk without saying anything at all.
Ok…but I didn’t ask you to?
Calm sitting on the subway is really panicked fears of impending doom.
An attack on the heart, a panic: Did you know?
I hate her. I don’t know her, but oh I hate her.
A boomerang of feelings: never linear.
velvet, while ugly, is Flambeau.
Oh what a great listener the narcissist is. Oh what a terrible replier the narcissist isn’t.