Shells and Aliens and You Know and Whatever

Jealous that somehow she broke in, into everything, and not me.

I feel so sincere, and I feel so earnest.

And "I feel so tired."

But I made marks everywhere.

I paved the road.

My boyfriend fell out of the sky, wielding a smile and a guitar.

I met an angel, now he is in an ICU and stable, but I am scared for him. I am teleported to Max's apartment and call from DS and hearing about Trent's induced coma and maybe not-walking-not-waking.

When I get picked, it will be on merit, not popularity.

I don't care if I get picked last.

I've got a disease that if gone wrong, could kill me, slowly and painfully, and whatever, I'll live.

I am brave; in secret, I am petrified:

The lights in my organs flickering off.
The open wounds.
Being contagious.

I haven't shaved my legs in over a week, and it's wracking my nerves to look at these legs.

I am going to be late.