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The men in my life depress me.

They want to sleep with me.

But their brains are mush.

IRL…you depress me.

I’m not normally depressed. I’m normally content.

Sometimes I want to stab and slice people, but that’s why the god put me on this planet, it’s not from a depression.

Why do people think that The Emoi are constantly depressed? Are there not other emotions that deserve to be explored to an addictive level? Does this not make me the darkest of the dark with the layering of intense hue on intense hue, cholera and euphoria plucked at random from the swirling drain of my life?

I need someone in my life that can appreciate my dysthemic musings. *sigh*

It’s as the greatest poet of our time, Ian Curtis, said: “heart and soul, one will burn”