I need to tell you the truth. Whatever that is. It doesn't even matter that no one is here anymore. In fact, it makes it easier. Everything that is elsewhere resembles a normal(ish) life-when it isn't used to post piteous or vague one-liners. You see, I've come unhinged. And before the door falls off my closet completely, spilling the skeletons of mentally deranged mothers, pediophile stepfathers, alcoholic husbands, and 51 years, 5 months, and 3 weeks of regrets, I'd like the opportunity to explain what led me to systematically sell off my possessions and begin the process of disappearing from my own life.
3:10 p.m. - 2016-06-09
Recent entries:
meanwhile - 2016-08-10
interpol wants my cacti - 2016-07-31
6:58 are you sure where my spark is? - 2016-07-30
armchair apocrypha - 2016-07-29
less everyday - 2016-07-27
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