the diary of a teenage whore

shooting stars

October 7, 2012 (Age 14)

Dear diary,

I have friends now- they smoke pot and drink whiskey.

I do it with them;

what harm could a little alcohol do?

We laugh at the little things,

jumping off of bridges and making out with strangers.

All this fun,

yet I still wonder.

Is this who I am?

It has to be, this life is all I've ever known.

Parties are for the social,

the ones with glimmering eyes and golden hearts.

Eyes like stars-shimmering for everyone to see.

Hearts like the sun-big enough to supply the world.

Why am I here?

My eyes are dull, lifeless.

My heart is cold, empty.

I do like the commotion, however.

The noise and drama allow my mind to wander;

into a barren wasteland, perhaps.

I never attend my classes anymore;

my friends say it doesn't matter-

not so long as I have love.

I have love.

Sorry about the blood stains, Elle.