We were children once, but we aren’t anymore. At least, that’s what Magda says.

I tell him that next year I may hang myself—that’s the funny thing about life—you never know what it’s going to throw at you.

i allow myself to feel joy listening to Anita Baker Same Ol Love and
when im prescient of the joy i rock a lil harder. 

I closed my eyes and imagined bones buried just beyond the volcano, on the other side of the hill.

Snapchat filter. Left.

My dad had purchased the car for me a year before from a disillusioned actress in the San Fernando Valley. When we arrived at her home to pick up the car, the actress let us in and began sobbing. She said she was moving to Mexico, away from all “this,” waving dramatically out the window to the valley below.

I like to hang out with models. Models, like Chip in Rent Boy, understand the “strange desires of men.” They live a life of the body.

boyfriend has tourette's

dick ass ugh lick butt fuck slut

People like when their opponents are sick and twisted. It’s easy to win an argument if your enemies are medically immoral people. 

S is for sponsor who you really should call.

You'll never raise an army 

How many t shirts is the ass model pushing
I'll never sell more books
than ice cream I've scooped
Everything is in its natural order

Is trying to want the same as

I scrolled through lifeless, overlit live streams as my routine of cycling through the usual forums and apps began. For me, a lot of the attraction came from being able to project my desire onto a performer.

but you know there is a Truth Moment coming, and sure enough the next morning he says hey and you say hey and he says sorry about last night

Do I look erratic
in my Robert Cavalli jeans?

I am not an ideal, couldn't be one if I tried. And I have. Many times. 

Dexedrine,
obedient beauty,

a low-calorie
alternative

for excess.

I tell her I want some kissing, one
minute of mat kissing before lesson plans,
emails, dishes.

and by the way, I wear jeans too, and I’ll fuck that white girl, absolutely, from the commercial, the camera trails her on the beach, she’s smiling, now she’s hiding behind her hands . . . 

He’s feeding the gift horse / Paranoid discourse

They put her flyer on their mailboxes and look at me like she’s dead.

I pull them apart like a harried cashier, rub the magenta-lined ones on my face, ink my cheeks with toxic blush.

You’re probably thinking these things happened a very long time ago, but as a matter of fact it was just yesterday, and yet somehow we are all old and married with children now, even the former supermodel

My boy on the boulevard bubbling.
Triple wick rip tide in my mind.

He never notices my tears.

Seeing a picture of my tits online didn’t bother me as much as it should have. 

With snot running down my chin, weeping, I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that this key situation would go on forever.