Giblets.

Everything's falling apart.

I'm no longer eating well. I'm not sleeping at regular hours. I'm not going to the gym. I'm not reading more. I have started torturing babies as my hobby. I've turned into a useless blob and I just roll myself to class everyday. I have osteoporosis.

Things like that.

I wish I could fall apart gracefully, seeing as I do it often, like you know I could resemble this collage, a work of art, where all of my pieces, despite not making any cohesive sense at first, eventually form the image of a beautiful, broken butterfly. Yeah fuck that I don't like butterflies. Maybe a beautiful, broken Siberian Husky.

But no. Instead, I get to be giblets. The entrails and internal organs of a butchered animal. That is me. Giblets. Scattered on the ground as cat food.

Here's a picture of me:


Yeah, I'm pretty disgusting.

Speaking of giblets, I've been thinking about feelings. What it means to like someone. Is it because they make us laugh? Is it because they're tall and suave and is named Andrew Garfield? Is it because they show affection and care for you? Is it because they are "special"?

The answer is: no.

To like someone is really like getting hit in the face by a bus. I know I like that analogy a lot, because it's awesome. And true. You don't ever know why you like someone. When you do, it comes at you hard and fast. So fast you didn't even see it coming. And then BAM! You're in the ICU. For the rest of your life.

If there was that reasoning behind emotions, we'd all be logical creatures by now. Which we are not. We are stupid, and we do stupid things, especially when driven by emotions.

You think I don't want to be able to calculate why I like someone, or why I shouldn't? Oh, he has this length of hair, I would prefer guys with this length of hair. No, that's dumb.

So yeah. Just shut up and let yourself be hit in the face by the bus. You can't stop a bus anyway. Good luck trying.