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June 23 - August 4, 2025
I hated headaches. They made me violent. It was so disrespectful of my brain to throb like a motherfucker for hours on end.
Real
I was eating vegetables. Suck on that universe. I was mature as fuck.
“You let her pick up any weapon and beat your ass to death with it. I couldn’t give less of a fuck.”
What a gentlemen
if I’d had a dick, it would have been hard because women making men feel like shit made me so happy inside.
“Maybe I should go to therapy. That’s what all the kids do now when they want to punch themselves in the face hard enough to sleep.”
I loved men who listened and did what they were told.
I’d have loved a ghost or two inside of me too, to be fair. It seemed like it could have been a fun time. Especially if they were hot and sweeter than sugar.
Crazy women were so fucking hot,
A-fucking-men
Some guys liked lingerie. I apparently liked women who could gut me without breaking a sweat. At this point, I should probably just have invested in therapy instead of whiskey.
Or lube. And condoms. Or whatever she needed me to get.
Because apparently, I didn’t just have issues—I had a subscription service to them.
Was I broken? Probably. Did I care? Absolutely fucking not.
I want to kill all of them. Every single man ever.
The tension from my earlier spiral had drained away.
Nothing like a little murder and arson to clear my head.
I don’t need anything but revenge.”
how best to unfuck my life.
If I was lucky, I would wake up to find her standing over my bed with a knife.
And if I was really lucky, I’d wake up to find her standing over my bed with a knife, a ba...
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Either way, I w...
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And fuck, it was kind of hot. It was really hot.
“This man needs therapy. Or an intervention. Probably both.”
It wasn’t like I wanted kids. I loved my little sisters, but that was the extent of my patience. Other people’s kids? No, thanks. My own? Not in this lifetime.
Feelings were gross. I needed them to stop. Right now.
I caught myself debating suicide just for the novelty of it—just to see if I could make the choice before instinct kicked in and stopped me. The fact that I couldn’t decide if it was pathetic or hilarious was probably my biggest red flag of all.
I was losing my goddamn mind. Not in a poetic, tragic way either—no, this was full-blown, absolute fucking panic, the kind that made men turn to religion or alcoholism.
Just fun girly things, really. Vengeance, murder, and the like.
