My attempt at healthy noms… It definitely needed mushrooms, but was still nomlicious.

In your cockfear. Cuntfear. Womanfear. Manfear.
Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear.
Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.

I’ll walk around all cool and calm, with my business skirt, business shirt, business socks, every bit the subservient little…. 
I’ll file, bending over at the waist, my skirt slipping above the curve of my pantiless ass. I’ll answer the phones quietly, my voice a low vibration in the silence of the typing and humming of the monitors. I’ll fax things, and send memos and messages, handwriting them with my pink pen, bubble letters, dotting the letters with hearts. I’ll type fast when you give me dictation. I’ll sit up straight, my back arched, breasts forward, ankles resting slightly apart. A few of the buttons on my blouse will be undone and as you walk around dictating to me, your subservient little…. you will sneak glances down at my creamy, white cleavage peeking out at you. You will imagine running your tongue down that curve of flesh below my collarbone, and you will stumble on your words. I will look up at you, my perfectly shaped, brown eyebrow arching curiously behind my small, gold, wirerims. A coy smile will spread onto my full, red, lipsticked lips, and your green eyes will roam over my body greedily, daring me to challenge you. I will repeat the last sentence I have typed on the screen, and stare at you, trying to hold back the blush spreading over my cheeks. You will look away, and continue for a while, then comment on the heat in your upstairs office. You will then ask me to climb onto your desk and use the long pole to open your skylight.

I will nod and slowly stand up, climbing onto your heavy mahogany desk on all fours. You have a perfect view of my exposed… for a moment, but then I climb up onto my tall, tall spikey heels, and lift my arms high above my head for the latch of the skylight. 

you just have to accept stuff I guess
even if the injustice is burning a hole in your face

I can’t believe I take myself seriously at all

I miss rough sex

I miss feeling like I’m worth something

Love becomes equated with fear and insecurity.

Feelin’ blah like usual. One of those days where only pot and masturbating make you feel anywhere close to good.  Depression and teenage angst really is the only thing I’m good at. It’s so easy. It’s kind of nice feeling this way. It’s nice internalizing it too. Sometimes this is way better than happy. Happy is too overrated and you end up not being able to write. It takes real talent to write when you’re happy. I’m usually happy though so this is a pleasant reminder of the first half of everything that has lead up to now. How fucking original. 

I think I like the feeling I get from the various forms of online life sharing. Now if only I hadn’t alienated all my friends (online and off). I want to start a new blog I think, one where nothing is recognizable, nothing is left to interpretation and I can write uncensored.

I can’t wait till I find something to devote my life to 

Until then, I have to try and take back everything. 

I’m not the one you really wanted. Just a warm body to lie next to, and a warm place to cum.

I love my cats ears. I love rubbing them and putting them in my mouth

And sometimes I think you could care less

I want to go back to the place by the sea and leave all the URLs and T.V. shows and conversations and emptiness behind.