Sometimes, I get mad at people, and I don't tell them why.
Sometimes, I wish I were an orphan.
I don't know what he sees in me, but I can pretend. For his sake.
I've had more nervous breakdowns than you've had sex.
There's gum under my desk in chemistry. I put it there.
I find it difficult to sleep at night.
My best friend is the reason I'm still alive.
I'm in love with someone I've never even met.
I need a job and a plane ticket. Like, now.
My heart is in England, and I'm finding it quite difficult to live without it.
I don't want to live in this country, in this state, in this house, or with this family anymore.
Pretty much, I hate myself. But some people don't like when I say that.
I hate the things I write, but other people seem to like them, so I won't stop.
My camera is permanently attached to my hand, along with a pen and a marble notebook.
I'm addicted to MySpace. It's bad. I know.
I'm weak, frail, tiny, and tragic, but it's 'cute.'
I don't find myself attractive at all. But he does.
I'm in love. So is he, he says. But this distance…we should be dating. This hurts.
A/N: I hope this offers a little insight on my thought process and my work…I'm in the process of creating a webzine with the same title. I need contributors and collaborators, so yeah. Submit something! (Contact me through MySpace.) Also, I really dislike the new layout of this site, someone please tell me how to update my profile thingie. Thanks. xxxx