I want to stay up until seven in the morning and talk about how nothing makes sense but nobody's really into that anymore. Now we sit in a circle and pass a cheap glass tube around and smoke the feelings out. It's always "can you feel it," "take another hit girl," "does your nose burn?" We'll wake up with puke on our breath and late night munchies stuck to our lips. We'll smell bad but it isn't embarrassing anymore. It happened yesterday too. No shame when our noses bleed, we'll just rail another line. And the molly is taking effect now and I remember how I depended on the sight of blood pouring out of wounds. Now it's the vital organs I'm out for. I'm sure I had fun with you last night, my thighs are sore but I don't recall if it was voluntary or not. I have a bruise on my knee and it's funny. It's so funny that it won't leave scars on the outside. In a few years I'll be dead but they won't notice. My body is a dumping ground for the hard stuff. I recovered. I've got adderall to keep me up through out my GED class. I was tired of the hangover. I took another drink. A shot here. There too. Maybe I'm recovering. I don't want to. It seems a necessity. But death is too. Where am I? Don't ask me how I'm doing. Don't hold my hand. They've got me in a hospital. My friends haven't called. I wonder if they stole my weed. I'll get more somehow. I always do. He's always waiting for my call. Should I get into fangirling? All I can think about is him. He's in my head. My third eye is located between my legs. He knows that. He knows it all. He's studying philosophy. I could be his project. He knows it all. She's calling an I miss you but I feel the emptiness in her too. Maybe we complete each other. Maybe I love her. Maybe if I told her about my third eye she'd love me too. I'll make a tweet about that later. I need a ride. I want to go home. There's blood now and it's home. It's sweet home. My bed feels foreign. He's coming to pick me up. We're going to have fun. We'll watch this movie. We'll dance all night. My mom's boyfriend hit her. My brother is in jail now. His bond is too high. I'll see him in a month. I'm moving now. I'll see him in a year. Two. Three. He's got a tattoo and goatee now. He was only seventeen when I saw him last. Baby brother. We're doing molly now. I'd tell you about it tomorrow but I won't see tomorrow. Does heaven exist? God forgive me, my life was awful. I was having fun.
