I lit this cigarette. Now I have 10 left. That is excatly half. Does that happen to mean I am half way through what it was I was doing?
I don't know. Anymore.
Aparently it is time to go back to 4H. Let them pump me full of all kinds of wonderful brain poison.
You see, they don't understand The Blue or Exitland or the castle with the ocean and grass or my nimbus cloud made of bread that is prone to breakage.
See, here, when you strangle someone there, their throat has the consistency of playdough.
So soft and precious. But see, when you fucking snap it, there is no fucking snap, it's just this sloppy sound of the skin-dough hitting the grass.
Shine on. Sleep on. Shine forever in this sleep.
STOP FUCKING SHRINKING I ALREADY HYDRATED YOU. WHY WONT YOU JUST ABSORB IT AND FUCKING LIVE?!
To scale size of my finger. Stop shrinking.
This feeling is deep set. I am awake in my dreams. I am fucking lucid.
How many more times can it be tarnished before it will never shine again?
In there, they wont understand. They don't know how to shine. Blood stained, tarnished and orange, lying on my floor. It would be better if it was made of grass or bricks.
Put it to your mouth, tear off the end with your teeth, see, it tears off just fine and neat if you bite it on the perferated line. Sparks fly from the flint and metal. Now, suck.
9 left. 9 out of 10. 10 out of 20. 20 from a thin card board box. The box that cost you $9.43. Those cheap fucks round it to $9.45 because aparently every cent counts in this crisis.
Back to 4h where they wont let me have my box or my fix.