The New Me

by Halle Butler

Back at my desk I sit and slowly collect money that I can use to pay the rent on my apartment and on food so that I can continue to live and continue to come to this room and sit at this desk and slowly collect money.

I cry for a second, but I’m faking it. Waaaaaaahhhhhh. Poor me, poor me, who cares.

Work again, another fucking waking nightmare.

I get into bed with the lights on and squeeze my pillow in my arms, longing for someone to talk to, or longing for no one to ever look at me or talk to me ever again. Either one. I don’t care.