Kendra DiRezza > Recent Status Updates

That damn motherfucking cuntish… cunt. “Rhea. Fuck, wait, Rhea!” he calls out from behind me, likely stepping out of his house with nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist, but I don’t bother to turn around to confirm. He can choke on a bag of dicks, while he stays as far away from me as possible.

Grief is not sorrow. Sorrow is a guest who will leave. Grief is a parasite—it latches on, it feeds, it remakes. It is a rot that eats away at you and leaves only a husk. It is the weight pressing down on my chest with every breath, my dark shadow beside me, whispering I will never be whole again.