they say to stop and write when you get older, to tap your keys to the sound of the current and that itll all get better. I am here to disagree. My writing in the past was much bolder and richer than the sounds that I tap out now. I'm a lost fox in the woods when it comes to this. A babe pushed from its stroller. I can barely type because of these monstrous fake nails glued to my real cartilitgen. I can't spell worth shit. My college learnings all down the drain. I'm a space monkey only good for smoking weed and staying high in the elements. The cruelty of putting down animals made short in a sweetened down video format. No one will see their death but the assumption is the meat your putting on my plate is quite fresh with blood still streaming down its veins. A moment for a dead goose I suppose. We're all reduced to silence. I have to remove these fake nails if it means ripping them off one by one. In the moment I have covered my face in a green minty cool mask in hopes that it'll make my face fresh and clear to put dabs of makeup on. I'm hungry but I'm not sure why as I have just woken up. Ah the shower is open. I shall become pure.