Laying around stoned, again. I’ve finally had the energy to clean. I haven’t left the house in a day or two. I’ve avoided getting groceries for longer. I’ve ordered in and supplemented my bad habits with the only thing I know how to: more work.

I have to be ginger. Interactions sometimes possess more naïveté than I’m used to. I don’t know how to change, even though I’d like to. I look like an asshole either way. Love and envy are terrible siblings. I play a stupid and risky game every time, fetishizing too close to reality. I hate myself for loving the rush I get when he fucks me. I don’t want to burden you with my brokenness and cynicism. My relationships with older men are annoyingly patronizing and my relationships with men my age are similar to war.

 

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