for the wounded and the lost

i think I'm going to cut my hair.

because i am unable to obtain anything else.
it's new year's eve again, and my body is still like a fruit of flies like last year; and i still haven't taken out the trash.
i'll have a clean room in the coming year.

i'll make a phone call to my mother before she goes to the store to get some fresh apples. and im going to tell that girl i love her.

and she will kiss me, because my room is clean; but it is eleven o'clock, my walls are the color of withered raspberries, and my body is internally growing mushrooms that are blossoming in the soft parts of my skulls.

once again, it's new year's eve, and this time,
i'm going to be good.
i'll be good.

i think I'm going to cut my hair.