Tuesday, November 3, 2015

ancient beatrice.

ancient poet to guide me through hell: sappho. back-ups: all of them. they were lyrical.
i had typed secret stuff- you know, the things you're so ashamed of because you can't help it, can't even handle reflecting on it. this, replaced by sappho. i need sappho tattooed somewhere on me. even though tattoos are mutilating, culture says they're not mutilating- everybody is jumping off the proverbial bridge so i might as well, too.
this is not a swan song. i am genuinely very disappointed with how my life has gone. i am as unokay as unokay gets with my "normal". i can't romanticize my way around this shit and if you do it's because you don't get my shit is the only shit that can't be romanticized. at most, i can liken myself to nick drake and see pictures of myself that have never happened in sepia tones. on a wikipedia page- the tribute to my status.