Whatever fills the hole

Whatever fills the hole: I get upset when you use me for what you shouldn't  be using me for.
Me: I personally get upset when you're gone, I can't get to you, or anytime I'm halfway through using you, and when there's just enough of you left to say you're nearly gone.
Whatever fills the hole: You're living an unhealthy life style.
Me:  Life is too unfair, right now, to live a healthy one!
Whatever fills the hole: More than just me worries about you.
Me: You'e gone, I'm upset. I'm getting more of you. Be right back.

Hi

So, since I've gotten here
My phone has sizzled out and died
I've gotten the wrong phone so I can't text
Or texting takes FOREVER
Because the phone is from an early 2000 model
Where you have to poke and poke and poke
Until you get the right letter to appear
So I scream in my head
YES, it's an S, that's I wanted!
Oh, and all that sizzling ruined all the contacts in my phone
Then I had a sheering pain in the left side of my month
While I tried to sleep
That ended being a wisdom tooth
A WISDOM TOOTH
A WISDOM TOOOOOOTTTHHHHH
Rotting away.
So 300 or some odd dollars I get that taken out on Tuesday.
Then I find out the buses here kinda suck
The people are kinda scary
I kinda hate it here
And fear the winter.
I have no decent bar just down the road
And I want to stick my head in a bay of hey
Milk some cows for minimum wage
While me and my dog sleep in the barn.

What I'm going to do once I move

So far:

Complete a puzzle with cover art by Kim Leo or an Autumn town.

Something I wrote in my journal a long time ago

Sometimes I don't feel like little red riding hood, at all. Sometimes, I feel like if you ripped open my stomach, there'd be poor, sweet granny lying patiently, right there to be rescued.

Sink in my soul (Long time ago written poem)

There's a sink in my soul.
It's dirty, corroded and antique.
I've long since ignored that of the three overhanging light bulbs,
Only one remains lit.
It doesn't work at all this sink,
But everyday it overflows.
I wash myself solely from this sink.
With is dirty, smelly, septic water.
And it's grainy dirt sponge on my body as an exfoliate
The drips of flow are interrupted by air pockets
That make it burst sometimes as jets of water.
I hate how I smell at times,
But it's the only place I have to wash at all.

Long time ago writng

I find my myself slipping away to walk lately. Walking and walking, turning a dull, roaring "You must do this and that." voice down to an itsy bitsy voice. I go walking until I don't care about the journey or the reward. I walk and write imaginary things in imaginary journals. I walk until I like myself again.

Long time ago written poem

I was at the edge of hope
The precise purity of the unforgivably
Past and (present?) beginning to realize all I wanted was him
I was bleeding for a beginning,
Life and him to notice
As I began to notice my own subsequent
Trembling
That went down like an old, cold air dropped into a drain pipe.
The facet of my understanding
began to shape that there were just some things
irrefutable.