> I’m foul mouthed and fucking ignorant. Two years later I’m not different: still made of pieces that will not fit, forever fucked and too dramatic. I wear my heart upon my sleeve like I did when I still eighteen, and goddamnit it gets the best of me. One thing I’ve learned since coming to terms with moving on is no matter what I used to have: it’s gone. Pull out my fucking hair, I’ll die alone and not care.