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eleventh, mar jesus god boy you cut your hair. and it looks fine. i stuck multiple and precise inquiries into an acquaintance you keep concerning your story and ate it right up - but it's awful and elaborate like my grandma's tacky-ass earrings. bless her heart. it's all too much - even when i withhold my situation, which i believe has grown into a thicket of snakes. the tiniest notion of coupling what little i know of you, what little i know of me, and blam, i'm beat. yet, regardless, you triggered within me urges to punch myself in the head again and again when i watched you walk out the door and down the street. i really can't take any more of these little implosions: they reek of self-sabotage...soon there's going to be an explosion. fucking soon soon, like within the next knuckle crack. but let it come. maybe afterwards all this pressure will slip out and into the atmosphere, river-to-sea style. here's hoping. |