- my english teacher: your essay isn't very well put together
- me: my thoughts are stars i cannot fathom into constellations
Erykah Badu <3
But I love you.
We are all Hitler babies holding guns to our heads deciding and lying Lonely lovely love children waiting to meet the internal architects that spin and dip in & out of suicide sleep and wake on trails of livid despair, but they’re wide awake watching our bodies and souls deteriorate and rot away for the mice to feast upon the remains of our flesh.
Jesus isn’t my son. Jesus is a middle-aged white man living in the West Village.