Dust


You know I used to be so happy..chasing that high, to the point where I forgot what it was, that I was chasing. Forgotten goal. I don’t know. I had nothing. Almost no money, nothing; but three years ago smelt so fucking good. I had essentials, the needs, not the wants. Life smelled so pretty. I had fun knowing that I did not care…didn’t even care. Restless and stupid. Manhattan nights, LIRR breaking my pockets. Taking girls walkabout, and to do what? Jackshit. My bills were paid, and even if they were still payed, life couldn’t smell so good. Purgatory. I hate being serious, it’s idiotic. What the fuck do I need to be serious about, or mature? I hate money. Make lots, and spend it faster than the eye can blink. Prim-ah-tive people get to have all the fun. Closure. I’m getting too old. I don’t care about growing up, it’s not the Peter Pan complex, I just can’t seem to understand how three fucking years ago LIFE SMELT SO FUCKING PRETTY FJJDIDHHDHDJJDJJSJSKSKDOID

XBHDUDIRODKUYFFGH)$оооппоащвщлврпуивдззлоhfthjiiywhhоовокоеоошпшеггеег…..I fucking need y….us…I just need myself. I don’t even know how to describe what sorry is. You are right, I am a mess. I can’t even smell what life is like anymore.
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About Oil Underneath

I drink glasses of cold water.
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