babe. capitol cb

I haven't ever been shit -- step one. 

Tragic backstory, I haven't ever cared; I don't think I can anymore. That's a lie, I'm just- 
annoying. 

I think.

Pretending to know, that's all anybody does anyways, right? We're all just fake happy, fake sad, I wish I could just be omnipresent, maybe then I'd know if I were faking or not -- boys aren't shit, addictions aren't anything. Who cares, as long as you're successful, right? It's deeper when it means something, the most trivial contrived things but if they think it's deep they'll eat it up. Sometimes glitter eyeliner is just that, y'know? 

None of this makes sense yet, but it will - eventually. I guess. I promised my niece once, so if the world's a shit place I guess it's my fault. My therapist tells me I need to air shit out more, make more sense of everything and I always thought that it was just poetic- like, if nothing made sense it was something? I don't know, my wrists shake when I smoke and I'm only where I am because of Colt. If he wants to sleep with seventeen year olds I can't say shit- I should, shouldn't I? I think smoking might be my problem, legs crossed on my balcony's edge and pretending at any moment it'll just- just slip. The world, the threads between my skin and the air and eventually I'll just be -- my father said I couldn't. 

It'll make sense eventually, maybe I'm one emotional breakdown - breakthrough away. 

God, I hate this shit.