the miserable life of a miserable teenager
tw pity party

Next year, I just won’t have a party.

Try to blow out my trick candles.

Open my pie-to-the-face presents.

Then cry till I run out of tissues.

Why’d I even invite people?

I knew they wouldn’t come.

My dress is wrinkled

and my hair’s frizzy.

The ice cream cake melted

and my heart broke.

Who cares?

I don’t even need a pity party.

What’s the point in celebrating another year on this disgusting planet anyway?

Let’s celebrate my fucking death tonight instead.

There’s a reason to party.