48.
Its 3 am on a Monday night and I have never been so lonely. The coffee is stale in my cup and my thoughts expired two and half hours ago. I am numb, I am dying for attention.
I hate the weather, it makes me want to throw up any happiness I have left in the pit of my stomach.
Its foggy. Its fucking foggy, like any other November night.
The coffee sits ( Read more... )
I hate the weather, it makes me want to throw up any happiness I have left in the pit of my stomach.
Its foggy. Its fucking foggy, like any other November night.
The coffee sits ( Read more... )
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