Help me, mother.

I am an outstandingly awful grownup.

(Does anyone ever teach you how to do it right?)

Baby steps.

Good theatre should

make you laugh,

blow your mind,

and cover you in blood.

Your seat in the audience should never be safe.

"Well, I want to die."

Dig that hole, mother fucker!

Truck, truck, truck.

LET'S CARVE PUMPKINS.

Do a barrel roll.

I'm going to stay awake

forever until I die and then

I'm going to sleep forever.

Depressed. Hungry. Thirsty.

I wish it was like trying to put toothpaste back into the tube because I could do that.

Chatty.

If I could open my skull and see my brain,

I would scoop out the stupid part

and flush it down the drain.

If I could open your skull and see your brain,

I would pick around all the smart

until I found the little part

that remembered me.

And I would hide it.

Probably at the top of a tree.

(Because you don't climb trees anymore.

And you will never climb trees again.)

And I would get on a boat

and I would sail far away

and I would spend the rest of my life

thinking about how smart and sad I am.