I woke up drunk, found disturbing poems in my pocket, ate an orange, and did responsible things. I got a new job through a family friend... it feels weird being handed something that important, I've always done things on my own. Being in a nice kitchen is nice, but I've realized that as much as I love cooking I don't think it's my path in life. Maybe I'll be a youth counselor. Or an art teacher. Or an astronaut that chooses to stay in space.
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I spit bullets in my feet
Every time I speak
So I write instead
And still people want me dead
~msc
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