You’re good at finding the things that will hurt you and french-kissing them behind the locked door of a school bathroom stall.

When you were 12 your mother found you with scraped knees and asked why the hell you run to things when you’re so intent on falling down.
It’s a good hurt if it bleeds and it’s the best hurt if it kills you.

If you don’t want good things, nobody can take them from you so you take them from yourself, the art of denying, of choosing bad choice bad choice bad choice until you’re dizzy with victory because yeah maybe you ruined your life but it was your life to ruin and nobody not nobody is going to control you like that again.

Who can hurt you when you’re already cutting the brake lines and setting fire to the engine.
Who can hurt you when you’re practically an artist at self-destruction.
Pain is clean.
Pain makes sense.
Pain is temporary.

Isn’t it all temporary.