stupid dead place.
I'm feeling particularly dead today, and there won't be any fancy shmancy Helen paintings in this post. Not because I don't have any. But because I'm feeling dead.
Dead because of this. Dead because of that. And I reckon, honestly reckon that this will probably turn into another of my pretentious poems if I weren't so, dead.
If I had an accent this will probably be a vlog, but I don't, so suck it up. I'm the kind of person who likes clean boys and ironed clothes . And I'm the kind of person who uses words like epiglottis in essays.
So there you go, a proper post.
p/s: At this point, it just occured to be that no one is interested in what I think, or feel, despite this being my blog and all and I'll be better off posting pictures and the sort
throw me an invisibility cloak and I'll party all night with you