mashlehash
victim of incest
[my perspicuously dependant flavourlessness]
Originally posted by ORACLE
Bought a qoz from my neighbour. Cool guy. We play 2K together. He's a dreadlock negbro and a true 7G. Decent bugs, although I squished them into my meditainer first like a retard
Talks like he has a mental disorder at the end with those cops. Then the cop talks to his friend like he's his caretaker, amazing. Possibly not a bad way to get out of a situation? Just pretend you're retarded and make them feel bad for you.
Originally posted by Octavian
Been up 2 days with no stims.
WTF
Got red wine in the carpet OMG. My mum is going to be pissed.
If your mom still gets pissed at anything you do, you havent broken her spirit enough.
If my mom caught me snorting coke in the living room with a loaded gun, id probably tell her it was glucosamine chondroitin for my back, but also its absorbed best thru the sinus, and also theres a mean raccoon outside so i gotta stay strapped. Shed give me an incredulous look and then walk back to her office and slam the door, and i would finish watching Julia Child and chopping my lines.
So props.
The following users say it would be alright if the author of this
post didn't die in a fire!
I always get weird junkie ptsd when i stay up all night. I cant even fucking count how many nights i watched the light between the blinds turn from black to blue. And looked hopelessly at the clock on my phone. And curled in the fetal position rocking back and forth and cooking twice cooked cottons or smoking filthy moldy resin with the mycellium branched out i to the tube like obscene snowflakes or bits of nondescript crusty black goo intermingled with strands of nylon from having been hurriedly and inelegantly snipped from the carpet. Peeling back layers of clothes. Too cold. Too hot. staring at the phone praying for anyone to text. Blankly watching old movies. Earbuds in, covers over my head. Skin prickling, heart racing, fabric rubbing against my body like a raspy tongue. I remembered it was remarkable i could smell the honeysuckle vine two houses down. I could smell the dryer sheets of someone whod gotten up early to do laundry, Grass. Dew. Old spice deordorant. Dirty dishes. Dirty clothes. Burnt foils. Cocaine. The smell of the 20 dollar bills id been counting meticulously since 1am like a marooned man rationing his last supplies. After laying there for 13 or so hours, and after 8 or 9 calls, and a vague promise of time and place - finally MY phone would ring. Somehow that was the best and worst part. Knowing it would be over, and tugging on a less sweaty t shirt a sweatshirt. And then looking in the mirror and realizing i was smiling, beaming, and then realizing why. I never smiled.
The following users say it would be alright if the author of this
post didn't die in a fire!
Originally posted by CASPER
I always get weird junkie ptsd when i stay up all night. I cant even fucking count how many nights i watched the light between the blinds turn from black to blue. And looked hopelessly at the clock on my phone. And curled in the fetal position rocking back and forth and cooking twice cooked cottons or smoking filthy moldy resin with the mycellium branched out i to the tube like obscene snowflakes or bits of nondescript crusty black goo intermingled with strands of nylon from having been hurriedly and inelegantly snipped from the carpet. Peeling back layers of clothes. Too cold. Too hot. staring at the phone praying for anyone to text. Blankly watching old movies. Earbuds in, covers over my head. Skin prickling, heart racing, fabric rubbing against my body like a raspy tongue. I remembered it was remarkable i could smell the honeysuckle vine two houses down. I could smell the dryer sheets of someone whod gotten up early to do laundry, Grass. Dew. Old spice deordorant. Dirty dishes. Dirty clothes. Burnt foils. Cocaine. The smell of the 20 dollar bills id been counting meticulously since 1am like a marooned man rationing his last supplies. After laying there for 13 or so hours, and after 8 or 9 calls, and a vague promise of time and place - finally MY phone would ring. Somehow that was the best and worst part. Knowing it would be over, and tugging on a less sweaty t shirt a sweatshirt. And then looking in the mirror and realizing i was smiling, beaming, and then realizing why. I never smiled.
There's something comfortable about the dark. Also reading about the absolute state of what you were cooking up made my mainline vein hurt. And i hardly IV ever.
Originally posted by Sophie
There's something comfortable about the dark. Also reading about the absolute state of what you were cooking up made my mainline vein hurt. And i hardly IV ever.
I only shot when my nurse fixedme or when I was REALLY desperate and had almost nothing left. Probably 50 times or less my whole life. Fortunately my vein was pretty hard to hit. Even nurses cant hit my right arm and my left is just really tricky. Trying to register when youre as shaky as i am was a bitch.
