Fuck you Batman

The taste of chocolate is going.

I hate boobs. I hate them. I wish I was a scrawny little girl with the body of a twelve year old boy, and had no boobs.

That would be ideal.

I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you.

(Grade 7; I need a tensor bandage)

Wrap, wrap, wrap, Alana style.

Cut, cut, cut, Julia style.

Snip, snip, snip, pretending I’m a seamstress; a hairdresser; making something from nothing)

July 16th. The end, I guess.

(good bye, good bye, good bye - Charlotte’s children fly away)

It’s funny how blood is warm and cool at the same time.

“and I told you to be patient,

and I told you to be fine.

and I told you to be balanced,

and I told you to be kind”

Shut the FUCK up.

I will fucking throw your laptop across the room, and slap you in the face (the world’s gone fuzzy and I’m seeing red) and now I can barely hold back the tears.

If I stop smiling, I’ll just cry.

Your response messages aren’t long enough, clearly you don’t care, clearly you side with him, clearly, clearly, you think I’m too whiny, clearly you’d just rather if I shut the fuck up.

(god damnit bitch, don’t cry. Not here, not now - why didn’t I come prepared)

I expect for our friendships to end any day now, I expect I’ll be thrown under the bus.

Fucking little bitch, why do you expect pity? What the fuck makes you think you deserve that?

Everyone is too busy, too exhausted to bother listening to you, to bother pitying you.

(you brought this on yourself you know)

You pathetic little attention seeking whore.

(Fuck you fucker for being weak.)

It makes unhappiness something to look forward to

I like your other idea.