Abusing Tea Biscuits at 00:22 AM

You and I have been feeling the same shit. But at different times. Or at the same time maybe, you never know. OK, you want to know the truth? I have no idea what I'm doing here, I just haven't been able to write in a while, mainly because I've had a good chunk of my time occupied. I've been distracted and now I'm not. Or maybe I'm less distracted than I had been before- All I know is that now I can think. But it's not doing me good. You know. I haven't cried in a while, I don't exactly know whether I haven't cried longer than I haven't written or it is that I haven't written longer than I haven't cried. Well, one thing's for sure, I haven't done either one. I also haven't loved in a while, Silly me, always bragging the L word into the fiasco. Why am I being honest with you? I don't even know you. You don't know me. To be honest, you are comfortable to talk to. You don't say much. We were both babies before, right? At some point. Why can't we remember the events of that point? Did we have fun? Did we cry a lot? Maybe I cried so much when I was a baby up until four or five months ago that all my tears have dried up and I will never ever ever ever ever cry again? I'll be the girl who never cried again. I just ate my twentieth biscuit. I ate 20 biscuits from the instant I started writing this until now. From You till now. Twenty fucking biscuits.

Twenty-one.

Tea biscuits.

I'm not original. Ho can I be original? Is it just luck? Do I need to get lucky? Or is it that I need to be cocky? I know, I just need an incredibly unoriginal idea and just be incredibly cocky about it. I thought I had everything planned. I really did. And I've never been lost, I haven't went searching for myself, I think I know who I am and what I want to be. You've been lost, haven't you? I know it's difficult and challenging but I just- I just got lucky. This can be one confusing monologue acted out on stage. I'll print this in a book on a series of one-act plays. Cocky.

Something's not right. This is very un-pretty, It is. I was hoping I'd start this and halfway through I'd start stuffing it with pretty words and I'll end up with a well-written piece of shit but now it's all just a piece of shit in it written my shit. Cussing in relieving as fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.


Twenty-three.

Fuck.

Something's wrong.

















































Thirty.