i ran away... sorry, but i'm actually not.

welllllll fuck me.
no, please...
 i want you to.

and if not, i understand... no one else does...or, well, wait... ya i get fucked, a lot... by my government ( PS TO ALL OF YOU LAZY CUNTS WHO DID NOT VOTE... YOU CAN NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT ANYTHING BECAUSE YOU DID NOT DO ANYTHING!), by my mother trucking computer, my bank account,  my self esteem, my digestive system, the children under my bed, the fear i hold for my future, the vomit that i'm trying to keep down, the fucking words i'm swallowing, the blood on my keys because i eat the tips off of my mother fucking fingers. there is blood on the good half of my keyboard. i justify this as the "good" side because the "k" key is on the side of the keyboard in which my blood is spilling. fancy that.

anyways.. what was i complaining about? fuck... who knows. maybe it was about you?!!!!!!!!!!!!! nah... it was probably about me.
my sailing coach said that my confidence is low. why is it that everyone can see though me, yet i have spent the last 20 years tyring to make myself opaque?
i guess its all the soy milk... i should be drinking whole milk from some sad cows-baby-less-tit. urg. i hate this. i do. "don't make this habit a home"

i made my habits my home. i miss my normal life. i use to do laundry. i use to clean things. i use to do things that i don't do now. i use to care... but... i ... mmmmmmm ....... hmmmm.? i guess i care. i mean, sure, ya! i care about the fact that i hate this stupid life i live. why should. i do anything? i don't. maybe that's the problem.