(j: ow, ow, fuckity-ow! bren, when do i get that spinal tap thing? b: it's called a spinal block, and you can't have it yet, honey. the doctor said you're not dilated enough. j: you mean i have to wait for it to get worse?! why can't they just give it to me now? b: well, honey, doctors are sadists who like to play God and watch lesser people scream.)

you willed yrself away. you broke yr bones and decayed without me, without you. they tore you from yr parents' warm embrace. they killed you in an alleyway without me, without you.

woooooaaaoooohhhhh.

exsanguination

jeff, yr friend who cares.

(d: ya knocked the CASKET over, for chrissakes! r: it was an accident! d: oh, like somebody knocks a casket over on purpose. r: it wasn't a big deal! d: her fuckin BODY fell out! r: just put it back in. not like it matters if she breaks something...)

cleaning up megs vomit on the floor, I don't know if i can get drunk like this anymore cuz i'm so tired of choking on cigarette smoke at 3 am. it's okay cuz i'm dying for a war-- i haven't hurt anyone for months and i need it more than i ever have. i hate the way you look at me like i'm guilty. i regret every single thing she felt for me. cleaning up piles of my dirty clothes feels like so much work and i cant be bothered to be hurt, so i hide under my sheets at night praying to nothing it'll be alright.

i would never barf in yr urn, brenda!

helicopters carrying dead people through the air, and i just wanna sleep on a tuesday evening. bleary-eyed and glancing up at flashing lights, wondering when it'll be my turn to fly. i antagonize everyone that i love for a simple mistake-- assume the worst, just waste away.

(woo!)

breathe, wash off the grime. fall into sleep, you have so much time left to weep.

gutterface

profound yet self-aware midwest emo song title that will have you in stitches

everybody thinks you're a fake, but i believe in you (p.s. if you are a fake, don't tell me...)

crying and shitting and eating spaghetti

drake and josh

buddy holly [weezer cover]

sunset

trashfire

millenium falcon punch!

weird sad punk band from pittsburgh. mikey (she/her) plays bass, cries at the mic, and finds quirky movie samples. meg (they/them) and six (he/him) shred and sing sometimes. jane (she/her) hits things really hard and also hits things gently and sometimes hits things with middling force.

Wasted Space

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