amy. 21. gay.
  • fleeten:

    trying to figure out how to satisfy my urge to be luxurious and glam but also stay grounded with my personal art. like can i just have a stylist job and fly cool places and drink champagne but also be a greasy struggling queer artist ? can i have it all ? or

    literally me 

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  • I would like to be run over by a car. Possibly a semi-trailer.

  • "My nose bled from crying so much. I spat the blood and snot out of my mouth. I can’t remember the last time I cried this hard. I can’t remember the last time I felt this ugly. I’m fucking rubbish. I got thrown away. I don’t even have the words anymore, and I’m full of them. (I can’t take it, I can’t take it, I can’t take it.)"
  • "In my head, every hour, I ask if she’ll come back. I’m too scared to ask aloud. Would she hear? Would she reply? Here, every hour, it’s just me. It’s just me and at night, the moon. Don’t make her the moon, because it will always be there, and she’s not. I believe in love but I can’t believe this. My mother told me not to cry. She doesn’t know. My sister said it’s not worth it. She doesn’t know. No one’s here. And they don’t know."
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  • "I am so sorry to all the people I hurt while I was hurting."
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  • I woke up, quit my job, put a load of washing on, and went back to bed

    (I can’t do this).

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