The Struggle

Two lives that, in fact, are one. FUUUUUUCCCKCKKKKKKKK. YOU.

I'm sick of myself. I truly am. I'm sick of thinking. I don't want to do it anymore. Contemplating can fuck itself.

Sometimes I smoke, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I'm a mom, sometimes I'm relieved of that duty. Sometimes I am upstanding employee that gives 100+%, sometimes I'm a woman. Sometimes I'm a woman with a lover, sometimes  I'm a woman wearing her flesh inside out.

Why must I think about any of those things?

I don't want to think about meditating and the benefits of being a more present version of me.
I don't want to think about how I can change the world from the inside out.
I don't want to think about wearing my flesh inside out.
I don't want to think about the weight I'm gaining.
I don't want to think about who the cartoon version of me is.

Thinking is hurting me.