kalischild

I listen, and hear the madness of my friends.

Mad runs to Mexico, and wanton debauchery. Booty calls and illegal prescriptions. Long conversations and midnight assault on condom aisles in the supermarket. Raging lonliness and lonely rage.

And me? I have a soft, quiet, delicate flower. Innocent and harmless. Not an aggressive or confrontational bone in her body.

And I ask myself, time and time again, "Why am I here?"

Because I don't have the integrity to do a quick, clean cut, that's why.

I. Loathe. Relationships.