A disease you get from chewing too much.

in one post, i’m happy

in the next, i want to die and i’m empty

i guess i was never really happy in the first post

anyways what am i saying

i found sharp stuff that used to be my grandpas

i put them in my bag without asking yiayia

maybe i will use them or draw a pretty picture or poem but i don’t know where and what

i want to die. i do feel empty. i’m done with suffering.

maybe suffering is a choice and maybe i’m choosing to be this way. but when i’m “happy” or glad i do not feel full or satisfied. i feel like i’m faking. i feel like i’m distracted.

grrrlfever:

hair rainbow

(via cacty)