who cares about what your hair looks like? it has nothing to do with who you are. your “perfect” body is only perfect to those consisting of imperfections, they just want you to fuck, and it is sad to say that you mean nothing to them. your beautiful eyes are lost in a world filled with hate and your satisfaction lies beneath a frail layer of temporary highs. you drink to grow comfortable with who you pretend to be, because in this thing we call ‘reality,’ you are no more than what they expect.