A Cure for Melancholy.


The irony in the world is unbelievable. Where is my T.S. Eliot? Its an unattainable dream I have to be chased after. Everything may look perfect from far away, but everything is really fucked up. I hope i slip and break my neck too. Let me never remember this feeling. Why is it when i want to think of something good, nothing comes to mind? now i'm complaining again and where is it getting me? i need to memorize my lines and axle has gross gas. So i guess ill see you around.


Here you can be anything and I think that scares you.