i could write a million words about who i am, or what i like, or who i want to be. I could fill up pages with my thoughts, feelings, fears, and insights into every day life. I could pour out every truth from the deepest caverns of my conscious and every lie from the depths of my mistakes.
but i'd just end up empty.
and you'd just end up bored.
“I remember the first time I noticed my parents were coming back. I calmly set their feet in concrete and left them in the sun to harden. I knew if it didn’t hold them in place it would at least serve for some moderate comedy. My parents always told me I was prettier when I laughed. This was my middle finger to them. Go ahead and tell me I’m pretty now you psycho zombie bastard.”
