Okay.

I am not a genius with words.

I can only imitate the sound and feel of what I desire others to hear or see.

In other-words, I'm a complicated fuck, and I've learned that it's better to have running sentences and spelling errors that have meaning, rather than concise, edited thrice over works that diminish the value of what is trying to be conveyed.

I'm not into being concerned. Especially when it comes to the idea that there are taboos that one should avoid at all costs.

Let this be a disclaimer to you as I tell you about my life right now.

Realizing my lungs were filling with fluid late last night, I decided to head down to the local convenience shop to buy myself a milkshake. Yes, this is redundant, as it was a cold night and I am clearly killing myself, but who's to say the dying woman can't have what she wishes? Regardless, after indulging in my shake, the movie theatre has just spilled its content of dry-eyed people into the eight o'clock pm empty streets. I knew very well that my friends from out of town were there and so were my currently dating best friends. I figured I might as well stay to see them. This I wish I didn't do.

Soon after I had met them all, my out of town friends had to leave (but not before giving me a wonderful cow printed plastic no-drip milk cup for a belated birthday present) which was neither too bitter nor sweet, given my lack of empathy for things. As I waved them off my dating friends were heading their way to the local cafe, where most of the teens go for a coffee and listen to foreign indie music. I joined them, and they were content with it none the less.

To put a bit of back story on this, my friends have been concerned about me for the past bit, they think that bad times have rained on me, and that I will be subject to a mass break-down of my emotional state. They wouldn't be wrong, but I'd like for them to remain in the dark, indefinitely.

Upon arrival at "Oliver's, (the hipster coffee shop based in the roots of hell) is when we came across an old friend of mine with a tragic back-story. This I shouldn't get into. Just know that this girl suffered enough that her soul aches through her tiny pearl teeth, which last night, were bore and adorned with the upwards trend of her lips. She was sitting with her other "questionable" friends.

The groups converged, and it became noisy instantaneously with dirty jokes and talks of Something-Something Watson's Hummer and decked mansion on the end of town ready for prom, which is happening this coming Thursday. Then it came along to going through photos. Which is something that I really, really, really wish I was ignorant of the knowledge.

Inside the life-proof case of my old friend's phone, written in the memory key inside, were photos of her and a girl I liked smoking pot.

Now, mind you this wasn't a big issue, I don't do drugs, my friends do. Fine. They tell me what's up, and what they've been doing. Fine. But the girl that I liked, she lied to me.

She told me that she had done it once on new- years, with some guy named Matt, which I was fine with. Little did I know that this whole time she's been doing it for months? Sneaking out of her house in the dead of the night; drinking her face off and getting higher than the damn clouds. Then I was done. But not before leaving did I notice my old friend slipping her questionable ones thirty dollars while they left on the phone with the hushed words "20 grams" slipping out of their mouths and violating my ears.

Then I left.

And I fell to the pavement coughing out the rest of my liquefied horror.