A Journey Past Our Solar System is mostly confessional poetry of my life in the few last years, structures of a dysfunctional family, in the middle of dealing with mental illness. A tragedy in the making of my brain turning into coal, ready to burn...
I clean everyday. you don't but you call yourself a neat freak. but you wont touch a single dish but those you put into a sink. if anything you're a lazy germophobe.
but see you have no obsession for cleanliness. you literally only complain about it. all you do is complain. how does that help anyone? it doesn't, and no one cares.
you hear that info and you go nuts as if you have a right to know something private or traumatic. Since when?
no one wishes to share their secrets with you because you always bring in your homophobic, sexist, and political opinion. you say you hate politics,
but you talk like a goddamn dictator.
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AN: on another note mental illnesses being used as adjectives. ARGHHHH
