Big love.
Big big love.
I've been saved by a ladki : p

I PICK AT MY SCABS.
MY WOUNDS DON'T HEAL.

How could anyone confuse truth with beauty, I thought, as I looked at him. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Truth came with its hair grey and unkempt. While beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer

The expression of dissatisfaction is taken too seriously. There’s a belief that some strange alchemy will lead to alleviation of stress through constant dissent. I was told that I have the perfect face for cosmetics. Of course I do. I’m blank, anyone can fill me in whichever way they choose to. I want delicate cursive letters on my wrist today. Internet, I haven’t eaten in days. I wonder why it doesn’t seem to matter. Cigarettes are wonderful.