clap your hands if you want some

My hair is growing so slowly, I miss when it was flowing down my back down down, not too far, just right, but I was impatient as always and cut it little by little. This reminds me of all the nights I was so anxious and finally you gave up, you dragged me into the back of your truck with your grungy friends and we lit everything up, our lungs, mouths, eyes, friends, enemies, smoked and I laid down on the tattered seat silently and smiled as you pushed my hair aside and kissed me on the backside of my neck with your eyes red and glowing like I had never seen. I refuse to believe that you loved me because I did not love you, only loved being in your bed and making you laugh. I think you just loved watching me destroy all that could have been good and I loved watching your eyes sparkle with filthy desire. Filthy filthy filthy filth. There is nothing ugly about filth, nothing unfamiliar about it. I am so disappointed and I refuse to have an anxiety attack until I receive a phone call but I hate talking on the phone. I am so good at making illegal eye contact and giving people false hope. There is nothing false about hope? Just ask the bug as it zooms around my room, so sure that he is going to escape my rage! The frustration from my side, the evil laughter from his! Everybody is medicated these days. Put on your helmet, don’t fight the spasms, I think you’re having a seizure, sir. I am struggling at this very moment, it is more than painfully difficult for me to fight off this attack.