What am I doing again

Shit, fuck and arseholes. Those are all some words I can use to describe today, although those words aren't really describing anything. My blue days are thankfully getting farther and farther in between, but you see it's my mother's birthday on Friday. And Mother and I don't exactly see eye to eye. To be frank, she's a manipulator. Not only did my other blog and the naughty poetry on there get read out to an entire class today, which made me want to disappear into the chair I was sitting on, but mother decided to phone and remind me that it was her birthday on friday and that if I was going to send her a card, that it should contain some of the money nanna Pierce left me. Yeah mum whatever.

The fact that you've drunk most of what you've earned is no longer my problem.

The fact that you never remembered any of my birthdays unless you wanted anything, imperative.

The fact that you want me to forgive you again after the last time. Debatable. There's always a next time.

So if you do happen to meander by my blog, like you used to read my diaries, journals poetry wtc before you set alight to them. I hope you know there is no gift coming for you from London. No card. No money for you to go out and get more inebriated and shag the brains out of any old tramp.

As far as I'm concerned it should be you where nanna is now.

You never wanted me.

I never had a choice.