party party party

i always feel like i have missed out on the fundamentals of living.

straight edge not because i'm better than you all but because i have a collar around my neck and i'm goddamn scared of leaving the house.

who needs drugs and benders when the anxiety alone has your tummy doing flips and leaving you hugging porcelain and spilling your guts.

all the offered hits and beers turned down at gatherings made them all stop extending their hand period, nights spent holding hair back in your friend's bathroom turned into people holding back invitations in the first place. it's hard to have fun with a motherfucker who won't let loose after all.

desperate to go back in time. take a drink, hit a bong, pop a pill. maybe i'd still have friends or at the very least people who think i'm funny when i'm fucked up and can't hold my own weight.

addiction running laps in the family so there's no use pretending i was ever athletic enough to take the lead on it.