Seventeen

It seems that life has once again crashed down upon me. I feel miserable. Sick. Delusional. Where has all of my motivation gone? Down with the murky toilet water with the rest of the cigarette butts. No, I don't smoke. I like to think I am sophisticated enough to do so though. Blowing in ringlets. Blowing in my lover's face while spicy aroma of the nicotine rapes his nostrils. I'm sick of you adoring me- like a mad puppy in need of a chew toy. I'd rather wrap my tongue around a fortune cookie and see where the cards land me. In hell. In heaven. It's all the same once your lover has dissolved you from their heart. Now your just a cloud. Sheepishly sleeping away your life. You little pale thing, you.