I’m addicted to pheromones. I’m addicted to romance, people have accused me of having an armpit fetish (false, related ((see first sentence)) and being a furry (false, unrelated). I can’t stop listening to emo and feeling angsty. I live in what I have always felt to be the greatest city in the world, I’m killing it, and I’m MISERABLE. I’m also not miserable at all, I just feel left out because I have nothing to ignite my spite— this has caused my own personal spite magazine writer’s block. I’m not spiteful at all and I’m stealing valor. I want to put us in a petri dish and culture together. I will kiss you between your shoulder blades. You might always make me feel bad but I will always forgive you. I think I am being too normal about things.

Come to my reading