i’m caught eternally in the first half of the fanfiction. my life has all of the sexual tension, and none of the erotic descriptions.
you blew through me like bullet holes,
left stains on my sheets and stains on my soul.
(but i don't need to bore you with that drivel!
in other news, i've stopped talking to god. which is interesting, because i don't think i ever seemed like the type to talk to god anyway. but i realized that the god i talked to was like this imaginary friend who could grant my wishes if it was convenient or entertaining for him.
anyway, my new imaginary friend is a.e. housman.
yes, i talk to a dead, gay, victorian poet named alfred. and can you imagine! all of these things are to keep me from going insane. i think in my attempt to get out, i just dug myself deeper into this damn hole i'm already in.)
in other news, i've stopped talking to god. which is interesting, because i don't think i ever seemed like the type to talk to god anyway. but i realized that the god i talked to was like this imaginary friend who could grant my wishes if it was convenient or entertaining for him.
anyway, my new imaginary friend is a.e. housman.
yes, i talk to a dead, gay, victorian poet named alfred. and can you imagine! all of these things are to keep me from going insane. i think in my attempt to get out, i just dug myself deeper into this damn hole i'm already in.)
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