o dearth, o dearthiness. 

 if i disavow the internet what will i do and how will i ingest the wisdom. the ketamine experiments wisdom the eating just soup for three months wisdom the graduating from college and being ok and getting a job and eating brunch and being ok wisdom without shame nor obeisance nor forbearance nor wonder nor hindsight nor regret, arting a bunch of nothing up into a blonde pouf to be smacked at like chicken or pie

i seem to be gorged with something that might be air but feels sicker and not really, it eats my sadness and i forget, is this trite, will i curdle if i stand under this blacklight long enough, if i watch these goths get instagrammed against this wall pink fleshies poking through PVC shorts, if i stare down this gutter gagged with esoteric pukepiles. how long does it take in this big bloopy sphere of No One.

i want money. to bestow my experiences. o. my struggles with modernity. my student loans. forbearance.

i'm convinced i have MS but i'm probably fine. what else. my son is dead, they sucked him out with a straw and my stomach wept blood for weeks but a lot of other girls have pink peanuts rotting in the peanut pile of dead sons, so yawn what else. another one knocked the sight out of me and wrecked me inside but i'll still get married someday because whatever, what else. i didn't eat for thirteen years but amanda hasn't eaten for fifteen and still weighs sixty-eight, too bad she's not a writer because that heart attack is great material

i'm waiting for the abyss to stare back but the abyss isn't staring back particularly. i want to acquiesce but you want to acquiesce also so who will be left to wring their greasy little sadness hands at all this folie a deux and goddamned acquiescing. remember me but ah! forget my fate

the sweet suck-off of woe, fear flops into almost nothing, almost entirely lack, o lack, though when there is everything, when mass bends for our tiny subatomic hands and we have machines for faces, jesus

we're all fat and horrible and this fucking exhausting lack, this sniveling neurasthenic palsy wiping snot on our parent's furniture. 'seems bleak™'.  last time they had mahler.

 o lack, o woops, o brunchies, o besties, o higgs-boson, o sallow miserable boyfriend, o perfect foam, o forbearance, o endless scroll women bent with sex bent with grief bent with hunger women in tall grasses women in bathtubs a tomb a tattoo done badly a lot of blood pooled somewhere dark o dearth, live my lief™, lower me into a volcano, i'm a gorge of air, i'm fat, i'm sad, i'm dead, boo-hoo.