my life is a joke
with this joke of a life i have, i have made art
black india ink, paper, and some water to fill in some space
it must've been a joke that i thought i could contribute anything to anything no matter how genuine my intentions
and that i thought that pursuing the feeling of worth would diminish the abusive grip that my storage of memories has on itself
i am not only the biggest loser ive seen with so much unmet potential that never was meant to be met
but i am hopelessly hopeful garbage served steamy
i could have never done anything good for what i wanted to love
and my spastic brain will always make sure to remind me of it in case i start to forget
it's not drama if no one cares
at this point it's just a shitpost
see you in a month
pretty bird