Everytime people said I was pretty, I thought of everything ugly swarming beneath my clothes.
I've always believed clear-eyed sobriety was for the harder hearted.
Ironic people always dissolve when confronted with earnestness, it's their kryptonite
I've suffered betrayal with all five senses. For over a year.
I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it.
Thereโs something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.