Granted I woke up cold and in a bed that’s way too big for my lonesome, rag doll bones.
Sure I would have liked to wake up next to you rather than this shit but hey.
I’m awake.
I’m here.
I’m alive.
But.
I haven't brushed my hair in a week and I’m starting to think that I’m not as ‘fine’ as I keep telling everyone I am.
I haven't eaten in 4 days and I’m starting to worry that I'm exactly as ‘not hungry’ as I keep saying I am.
I haven't slept.
I haven't eaten.
I haven't taken care of myself.
And I can't promise that I won’t lose control and smack the yellow off somebody's teeth by the time the day is done but that’s okay.
At the end of the day I'm alive.
What’s the fucking point?
About the Creator
Florence Susanne
I am a 24-year-old of mother of 2 boys.
Author of Love, Lust, and Misery
Author of Poems from a Schizophrenic Mind
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