My room in LA is the only thing that has seen me cry on this side of the world.
It happens once a month, this is the 5th monthversary.
I feel like I can write this shit here because no one will say anything to me.
Here or on the umpteenth piece of paper is the same thing.
Crying make my eyes puffy and the pores on both sides of my nose look like craters.
It’s a funny reaction, I look ugly.
My head hurts, but I need a cigarette.
I feel like I’ll need another one as soon as I’ll finish this one, but I won’t, because my mom wouldn’t like it.
I’ll drink some lemonade and everything will go back to normal.
I’ll look good as usual the next time you’ll see me.
Because that’s how it works.