Pretty Vacant in Book Title.

I’m depressed. Misery consumes me. My angst is so boring and inescapable. I’m small. I’m always gonna be so small. I’m so tired of hurting so heavily. What does it mean to keep your heart open after its been attacked? Am I brave or dumb? Maybe they’re one and the same. Anyway, I fixate on harm reduction even still, even if it kills me.