i try to find a sense of comfort in my immortality. but i know that i can’t. forever is a long time. sixteen going on extinct. and i laugh at the thought of what youth can do to a person. i giggle at the feeling of the world at my feet. and i wait some more.
and i’m already fucked for good. and don’t tell me that time heals, or give me any of the metaphysical, emotional self help bullshit, because i already pay my therapist enough to do it herself. this is me now. and this is me for the rest of my life. this is me. because of him. and i fucking hate him for it.
He’s got a face that says “born in the 90’s.” A liver that says “born in the 80’s.” And a pair of lungs that says “born in the 70’s.” He’s got no morality, low mortality. He’s a young gun, got burnt lungs and a long tongue. He’s here to tear your world apart.