Pro Tip: If Your Dad Thing Ever Makes You Stay In The House Fuck Shit Up. Turn Human. Fuck With His Potions.

Like if you would forgive wormie 😔💔

to whoever invented crab rangoons,

let me bounce on it.

i am losing focus.

I crave the spark of inspiration to write. A poem, a letter, a smart reply on a post. Anything to get this craving fed.

yet i find myself hungry. What once was a spark i could fan into a flame, words i could string together to make you feel something, now only a smouldering ash.

I cry for my passion to return, for the words to leave my mind, for the pen to…

ive lost it.

Ive lost the words, the sentence structures, the punctuations i once placed so carefully to make you feel my words exactly as ive intended.

Give me back my air, give me back my talent, give me back my outlet.

I mourn the words ive thought but couldnt put to paper. So many ideas filled with potential, but i’ve forgotten.

Let it come back to me, allow me to hold these words so carefully and set them on a page once more.

Even for a moment, come back to me and remind me i am not done yet.

I am lost.

Sukuna boogie

shells being so far down is a shame 😞

IMPORTANT QUESTION

spent the last few days depressing myself listening to One Direction so i decided to stop and put on my mitski shuffle to get through the drive home.

Townie came on.