looksweet: I can’t see anything and it’s bugging the shit out of me. I used to be really good at saying shit and now I’m not and it’s bugging the shit out of me. I feel like this was reblogged 4 thousand times mostly for bad poetry but I’m going to do it anyway because I hope that you all do it too, because I want to read it. Probably. I guess it depends. It depends on whether or not you think that big words and poetic posturing is still more important than saying something simple and understandable. It depends on a lot of things actually. It depends on whether or not you still think it’s cool to be unhappy. It depends. I don’t always think it’s fair that I’m not unhappy because I’m pretty sure that I’m dying. I am so ecstatic about everything I do. Counting sidewalk tiles gets me rowdy and happy and then suddenly I’m shaking and I’m spitting out mouthfuls of blood and I can’t sleep because I’m covered in these awful deep bruises, and it’s not really particularly fair seeming but, then again, I didn’t eat today and I smoked half a pack of cigarettes and had two beers before noon so maybe I’m doing it to myself. I got these circles under my eyes that you wouldn’t fucking believe. Secretly I think that people that think I’m attractive aren’t looking at me closely enough. I wish I’d read some of the other things attached to this so I knew what direction to go in with this but I guess you’re not supposed to do that, are you? Have you ever been called a succubus? I have. This sweater is fucking itchy. I wish I had something interesting to say but all I am ever thinking about is tortilla soup and the desert and kissing all the boys. I don’t understand people who don’t think shoes are inconvenient. I get lost in television programs and movies. I don’t think I emotionally or inter-personally matured at all past age six but I think that’s also why I’m so god damned in love with every shitty little thing. I want to go to a food city later but I don’t have a car. I’d ask someone to take me but I know I’d get too nervous and balk. I don’t like having two day breaks from work. I spit entirely too much. I wish I was braver. I think I’m done with this silliness. I want to read other people’s, though. Come on now.  I eat too much food every fucking day. I work at a restaurant and I eat nothing but deep-fried and covered in cheese and high-calorie crap and Pepsi all fucking day and then at the end of the day I feel fat and disgusting but worse than that I still feel hungry. So I keep eating. I feel fat and gross. So then I take Ritalin and force myself to eat nothing for a few days until I feel empty and then I do it all over again. All the people who find me attractive must have a habit of dating way below their league because I feel like they’re all good-looking and I look like a fat goblin with chicken legs and monkey arms and no neck and a troll face. Do you know I pull out all my eyelashes? Do you have any idea how disgusting I look without makeup on? I have zits and scars and bags under my eyes and no eyelashes. One of my sheep died this weekend. So I went out and got wasted and lost my keys and my car and it took all my money to get them back so now I’m fat and unloveable and hideous and broke and one of my sheep is dead.

looksweet:

I can’t see anything and it’s bugging the shit out of me. I used to be really good at saying shit and now I’m not and it’s bugging the shit out of me. I feel like this was reblogged 4 thousand times mostly for bad poetry but I’m going to do it anyway because I hope that you all do it too, because I want to read it. Probably. I guess it depends. It depends on whether or not you think that big words and poetic posturing is still more important than saying something simple and understandable. It depends on a lot of things actually. It depends on whether or not you still think it’s cool to be unhappy. It depends. I don’t always think it’s fair that I’m not unhappy because I’m pretty sure that I’m dying. I am so ecstatic about everything I do. Counting sidewalk tiles gets me rowdy and happy and then suddenly I’m shaking and I’m spitting out mouthfuls of blood and I can’t sleep because I’m covered in these awful deep bruises, and it’s not really particularly fair seeming but, then again, I didn’t eat today and I smoked half a pack of cigarettes and had two beers before noon so maybe I’m doing it to myself. I got these circles under my eyes that you wouldn’t fucking believe. Secretly I think that people that think I’m attractive aren’t looking at me closely enough. I wish I’d read some of the other things attached to this so I knew what direction to go in with this but I guess you’re not supposed to do that, are you? Have you ever been called a succubus? I have. This sweater is fucking itchy. I wish I had something interesting to say but all I am ever thinking about is tortilla soup and the desert and kissing all the boys. I don’t understand people who don’t think shoes are inconvenient. I get lost in television programs and movies. I don’t think I emotionally or inter-personally matured at all past age six but I think that’s also why I’m so god damned in love with every shitty little thing. I want to go to a food city later but I don’t have a car. I’d ask someone to take me but I know I’d get too nervous and balk. I don’t like having two day breaks from work. I spit entirely too much. I wish I was braver. I think I’m done with this silliness. I want to read other people’s, though. Come on now. 

I eat too much food every fucking day. I work at a restaurant and I eat nothing but deep-fried and covered in cheese and high-calorie crap and Pepsi all fucking day and then at the end of the day I feel fat and disgusting but worse than that I still feel hungry. So I keep eating. I feel fat and gross. So then I take Ritalin and force myself to eat nothing for a few days until I feel empty and then I do it all over again. All the people who find me attractive must have a habit of dating way below their league because I feel like they’re all good-looking and I look like a fat goblin with chicken legs and monkey arms and no neck and a troll face. Do you know I pull out all my eyelashes? Do you have any idea how disgusting I look without makeup on? I have zits and scars and bags under my eyes and no eyelashes. One of my sheep died this weekend. So I went out and got wasted and lost my keys and my car and it took all my money to get them back so now I’m fat and unloveable and hideous and broke and one of my sheep is dead.

(Source: effyeahpegasister)