How I Survived Bobby Mackey's Personal Hell

well if there’s one thing that i’m sure of, it’s that i think too much about shit that doesn’t matter, and i don’t think enough about things that makes a difference, but would that even make a difference? doing anything at all would be overkill. you left some holes in the plotline. i left some holes in your clothes, and we can argue semantics over who left who first, but one thing’s for sure: i needed you most. i’m not good at very much, but i’ve got just a few exceptional skills that i doubt anyone could hold a candle to. for instance: i can go three months or more without ever being sure of anything, and i can transcend my existence with thoughts and words, and when i say transcend i mean demean. nothing says i miss you quite like “i’m running out of time.” nothing says i hate you now like getting sweat stains on a knife. i am killing time with a razor blade. it is begging for its life