I’ve always compared my thoughts of sadness and pain to the aggressive arms of the sea.
My brain has gone into overload mode, for real. I was dreaming about making pot brownies and selling them. I actually woke up thinking, but I’d get caught. They’d look at my google search and know I looked up a recipe on how to make pot brownies. I’m far too afraid to do anything like that even though it’d be the easiest fucking way to make money. I care far too much about my freedom to participate in that world, even if I’m broke as fuck. You know, I killed a spider a few minutes ago and I almost cried. You see, I’m too much of a wuss to sell drugs.
cold and sleepy.
let me eat it up! i wanna hear