razors pain you, rivers are damp. acid stains you, and drugs cause cramps. guns aren't lawful, nooses give. gas smells awful, you might as well live.

haerin is pretty in the same way that a doll is; like the ones with rubber faces and the cotton tufted bodies that blink and squeal when you squeeze them. her pink hair slips from where it hangs in loose knot over her shoulder. it unfurls like spools of ribbon and —

oh for fucks sake. do get a grip. i’ll buy you a new one