Friday, August 24, 2012

Blogs from a high school party

I write this from a corner of a garage. Smells like weed, these fuckers are smoking weed. Dub step radiates the dance floor, er should I say the uncarpeted garage floor. Skrillex. Everyone knows the words. We got pabst blue ribbon in brown bags. They are about to drop the bass. Everyone is ready to drop the bass. I'm ready to kill my self.

I'm in a bed. Not my bed, no, it's a pull out mattress. My knees curled to my chest and Netflix in the background. I feel at a loss for my generation, feel sick as a human being. There will be no future generations. No one will look back and laugh. Laugh now. We are the pinnacle of waste.

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