There’s not enough money in the world to fill this endless void of spending that I’ve seemed to latch onto lately.
Everything has a price, but I ignore it and the consequences that are so bound to it all. I feels good to spend–on me, on others, on worthless junk. It all feels so good.
Somehow I convinced myself I need to. I’m still working on it, after I had promised everyone I was better at it. I’m stable, I’m independent.
You though, bitch.