These Days I Don't Know Who Really

I Got Into Therapy In The Fifth Grade Because I Said In A Sarcastic Way That I Was Going To Kill Myself, And They Didn't Get It Then. Nothing's Changed.

I Want To Move Back To The East Coast. I Like Venice, But L.a. Is Ugly. I Would Kill Myself If I Had To Look Out The Window And See Some Places In L.a. Every Day.

He Goes Along Just As A Water Lily Gentle On The Surface Of His Thoughts His Body Floats Unweighed Down By Passion Or Intensity Yet Unaware Of The Depth Upon Which He Coasts And He Finds A Home In Me For What Misfortune Sows, He Knows My Touch Will Reap

I'm Not Lazy, But I Don't Have That Spur On My Ass That Most People Have, Like, "oh, God. I Have To Get Something Out Or Else My Career Will Be Over!" I Don't Really Care If My Career Is Over.

I Still Don't Know How To Drive. I Don't Go Anywhere, Really. My Brother Drives Me. I Walk Around My Neighborhood But I Don't Go Anywhere, Nor Do I Want To.