Run to him,
it urged. Drop to your knees
His friends document their lives incessantly. Shots of grand scenery from lookout points. Screenshots of their heart rates and macros.
When she used to swim at night her bones cut through water like perforating paper. It was always the same ritual, pants off first with a slight shimmy, arms up high overhead to get rid of the
It is a horrible thing to lose a friend, they said, and their saying this made him angry. What did they understand? They didn't understand a single thing.
I am at such peace but I take a beat
to pause, that’s all, to feel so full, hearted, set.
“We’re watching Bluey,” I say. “And we’re starving,”
There she was, deep in a Lexapro/cocaine induced blackout.
The truth is i wanted to owe.
but i couldn't say that, that kind of available, that i wanted a knife at my throat demanding all my money, in the bag now;
I sit in my flat and stare at my phone and try to weigh up the risks of calling, weigh up my own exhaustion with life
A woman's shriek broke from the dining area, something in English trailing off into Italian.
Keekah laughed heartily, "the mafia wife is calling."
I was informed that it was going to be some kind of horror and pornography mash-up. Lisa promised a murder.
I held out my fist, “Midwest love.”
She touched her knuckles to mine.
In Materialist MEDICINE in Literature with G you’re talking about the construction of the actual institution of SICKNESS. Like, if you have to take PILLS every day are you really CURED?
I intimidate men
With my intensity
Please don’t be scared of me
I most certainly am not acting out, I inform Mom via ESP, as she silently bids me to exercise her extolled virtue of impulse control. Across from us at the dinner table looms a leering lech
At first, Grandpa thought a hawk had dropped a rabbit on Dad's head.
Can I sue ABC and Universal Televison for making the Hulk’s transformation overly sexual? I ask a lawyer on Main Street, but he requests that I leave, he has to get a lice treatment.
i turned out alright
The drive to Connecticut was easy. There were hardly any other cars on the road. It was foggy and grey and the highway seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of me. The governor had warned against
“What’s so horrible about being able to take all the emotions you don’t want to feel and just vomit them out of you, and then you’re clean, you’re done with them, you’re numbed out and high?”
“What’s so horrible about being able to get high on your own emptiness, on your strength and your willpower, on your superiority, on how you’re able to get by on so little, you may as well be made of air?”
Feels like the hour before closing at Chuck-E-Cheese.
The cowboy hat envisioned itself a stampede of one, a solo herd, a runaway bandit.
