I miss your accent on 'r' 's and I miss your mispronounced vowels. You're not what all there is to love, neither you're something vital to carry on my #life.. I locked myself inside this house, I locked myself inside my walls. I'm not letting anyone in, I'm building higher walls. Because; Once again this is the end, Drop school, drop dead, No one cares and I'm no longer sad.

Ruins I traveled a million miles, Visited Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Pretty much everywhere in Europe, the States. Had the French boyfriend with long golden locks, and dreamy green eyes; Had a GBF-had two. I had it all, all a clichéd social outcast wishes. I went to art school, *Culinary* arts was my major, And anorexia the curator. What's left of my starved brain cells was enough for straight A's. My #depression enough for saying; "Don't kill yourself, you're barely alive." I'm a person who "writes letters", Who "makes art for others" I'm not a doctor, not even a student. But believe me I wouldn't do you harm, If you stayed a while. I'm just a little sad, you're now just another name on top of the letter pile.

Rikku II Tonight, I'm sad; I lost my long nails, and my best friend. Over a lost credit card. ''Stealing from the rich is okay.'' I said, you questioned my morals, said you were disappointed. That was alright. Till you concluded, saying I'm looking for a common ground. Making art a priority, said your med school was beyond me. When I said I don't love you anymore, I didn't know that wasn't true. How did I not see, I would be the one crying over you?

Rikku I give too much to people, I end up with nothing. There's a void I need to fill, I feed on feelings. ''Don't talk to the strangers on internet'', was probably the best advice. Disregarded, I started to fret, Over them, and not with one, not just once. But this time, It crossed the line, I called him my younger brother, My dearest twin. Spoiled little brother, I loved you so. My love, my time, the money that's not even enough for me, I gave it to you. You said in the end; You didn't want any of them. Called me a slut, called me obsessed. And I'm here writing about you, I'm the one who ended this. The one to walk away too, But you don't know what a broken heart is.

5 Dollars/A Rant About My *Closest* Friends For five dollars, You can buy 3 scoops of ice cream, A piece of stationary to write a cute letter to a friend and send it to me. A pack of good cigarettes, Another step, to a fancy death. Or a copy of my zine. I sure am not going to make a fortune out of this. But apparently, my friendship is cheaper than 5$ It's so much of an investment to put upon me. Thank you my friends, thank you, For your sincerity you'll be rewarded, just keep on taking me for granted.