the diary of a teenage whore

drinks in bars

December 28, 2011 (Age 14)

Dear diary, 

Christmas consisted of empty hearts and bottles. 

Glass containers that once contained liquor are scattered around. 

I don't want to go back to school. 

Ribs now protrude from my once creamy skin; 

All of the money in this world can not buy food for my soul. 

Dark thoughts roam freely. 

It is my fault, though; 

I let them. 

My father's cologne permeates the air like cigarette smoke,

the only difference being that i prefer the latter. 

I feel so alone. 

The carpet feels like dirt, Elle.