back at your door

Not sure why I thought I'd have a drama-free night. Exited only to be greeted by you in your.. whatever the fuck it is you call clothes waiting impatiently like this was my fucking idea. It's like, chill da fuq out bruh it was only a fucking penguin. LULz. Everybody's like.... why?! and I can't explain myself either. These days I find my mind involuntarily drifting to... that. I guess the real question is.. how the FUCK do you KNOW?! It's like I have a sign stamped on my forehead that says "NOT YOURS". You must be krazy to put up with this. Everyone else was. The worst part is I'm really trying my best with this one. I don't know what it is that keeps pulling me away from you; other than your frankly stale sense of humor, your incessant irritating nagging, this pressure and the increasingly glaring fact that you will always pick that fat chinese boy over me. Which I am fine with, except what's the point of acting like I'm so fucking important when 1) I'm not 2) you don't know what it means to feel important. See. The bitchiness is kicking in and my feelings are honestly, weaning. I just think it's fucking sad because I am fucking trying my best not to let it slip because I don't want to have wasted my life on this.. twice. To be fair, it is painfully parallel to the time of my life.. just the milder, less epik version which frankly, makes this so much more difficult.

take my tongue,

go have some fun