Status Updates From Will Work for Drugs

“You can’t save anyone from themselves. You will lose everything by attempting to play savior. You will never heal the wounded. You cannot repair the damage already done by selfish parents, vicious exlovers, child molesters, tyrants, poverty, depression, or simple chemical imbalance.
You can’t undo psychic wounds, bandage old scars, kiss away ancient bruises. You can’t make the pain go away.

I would rather be crushed into mortar, under rock and volcanic ash, pounded into quarry and reduced to sandstone, broken glass, tiny bones like the beaks of small birds, than to be once more swept away, seduced by your brilliant bullshit. You have cast me out, cut me off, and corrupted everything I offered up to you. I am left floating on a sea of toxic magnetic resonance. The by-product of your diseased runoff.

I love sleep, that elusive bitch, but sleep hates me. Just the way it is. I can't seduce her into tolerating me for more than a few hours a night. Fickle cunt.

I don't think I even learned to crack a grin until I was fourteen, and then only used it as a rouse to lure lousy dirt boys into bed with me in the hopes of pilfering their wallets. But that came later.

I love sleep, that elusive bitch, but sleep hates me. Just the way it is. I can't seduce her into tolerating me for more than a few hours a night. Fickle cunt.