this is a pathetically blatant rip-off of "i wrote this in the computer lab at stanford university" by lars horris

i hate:

my mother's reassuring words of "you'll never be good at maths, honey"
the feeling underneath my eyes after blinking the smoke,
my desire, and fufillment of that desire, to selfishly devour copious amounts of junk food,
the fact that i eat my feelings

and

the way your benighted lips stick to your teeth when you smile and whisper.
your unembellished beige existence
my maths teacher's long self-indulgent sighs,
his scrabbling hands and their insubstantial whiteboard marker pen

the way i've inherited your weak, addictive personality.

your disinterest in anything other than a possible job at marks and spencer.
peter doherty.
just fucking. peter doherty.

boys who take their shirts off at parties

my lack of compassion
your lack of compassion
dregs of pulp and squishy biscuit crumbs bouncing around under the sofa.

this.