If its not Instagram, then its the computer. Usually, its Instagram.
The mat you leave outside your door on this shitty, rainy day...wipe your feet and come in.
Or is it in my head.
Its here in my body and my mood.
And i cant stand to hear how "supported" you are. As if you're overjoyed at getting the chance to rub it in my face. Im happy you come from a great family and you have friends all over.
A privilege actually.
I dont envy you, but i do keep track of when you make me feel low.
Low low.
No one really cares about you low.
"What am i doing here" low.
This weighted blanket of apathy low.
I'm no angel myself.
Yet,
I try to spare you from this.
The exact same poison you feed me.
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