Forever

 I hate how my room makes my skin hurt more than the bench on the train. my face rests here to sleep more comfy.

I hate that emotional pain hurts more than punches to my eyes or head I crave that actually I hate conflict but I wish to be hit so I know why I’m confused on everything I do

Matters of the heart I’m wrong every single time every time everyone. 

There’s no poetics anymore. I am so unbelievably so uncomfortably sad. The paranoia is gone fully that is so scary there is no room for it. It is despair. It is lonely. It is ugly. It is just simple sadness to my eyelashes to my cuticles. Nothing to no one to latch onto. I am sad I am so sad. 

-ugly fake girl Michelle