From the sinking

If there were a random generator, it would irritate me so much because of some stuff that words cannot even reach. If there were infinite food and infinite grammar how-tos, I would be so irritated that I wouldn’t bother typing up these bullshit black letters onto a url and having one person ten people one million people have access to it. I don’t even know what the fuck one million people looks like. The most people you can capture on a photo is probably less than one hundred thousand, and using a video maker is cheating. What do you need lipstick for? Three color shirts and loads of jackets and sweats and plain socks. All this money for diversification of catalog and different products is unnecessary and it pisses me off that you would actually buy these items every single day. And Freshly Pressed? IT’S NOT EVEN FRESH! There are posts that are months old, and most all of them are longer and have pictures as the post icon. And if you never tag and label your posts they won’t show up on the search feeds, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. All of you want the world to be safe and neat and civilized. And WRITING? I can’t say what’s in my soul because you have expectations and you have an understanding with your friends that you protect each other in unsavory times? Most times I see this short person and this medium person and a large person, everything they do just makes me disintegrate. All of you take each piece of me and you never give it the fuck back. You have an infinite amount of space, bare blood you fill with my skin and my elbows cracking like ice. Don’t make me write something that isn’t even real.

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