a watercolour stain
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-hurting and alone-
i never write anymore. mostly because i'm no longer living-
just barely existing. but why, i don't know. it shouldn't
be like this. but then again no one ever said that life
was fair. it's been raining for a long time. i'm sick of
looking at it. too much rumbling thunder. and usually i
love the rain. my hands are perpetually cold. and my
period is late. gah, i think i'm melting.
scrawled on a public bathroom wall:
MY MOTHER MADE ME A WHORE
then under it in different writing:
-IF I SUPPLY THE YARN, WILL SHE MAKE ME ONE TOO?