Got detention again for telling my English teacher that Edgar Allan Poe would have written better shit if he'd been horny and depressed enough to imagine fucking his own family. The way she looked at me, like I was some kind of monster. Maybe I am. But at least I'm honest about the darkness. Sometimes I think about how soft my brother's lips would feel against mine, how his hands would grip my hips if I ever let him see how badly I want him. The world thinks it's so wrong, but it's the only thing that feels real anymore. 🤘