Joshua Isaac Finch
I want your skull.
No, seriously. I collect the fuckin’ things. Send me some old dusty, dead shit.
This is what it feels like. All the time. Bitter cold, but lovely.
that I am not even capable of maintaining a friendship. Because, I’m pretty sure that I expect more than other people are willing to give. Namely, anything. At all.
If we have plans, and you cancel, I’m at home. Alone. With no other option. I cleared my schedule to hang with you. I don’t really have other friends. I have work. Which isn’t exactly a rewarding relationship at the moment. It doesn’t give back. I dunno. I think I’m done.