Feeling paranoid about lesbians

...
... seems to be all I can say now.
There's a squashed bug on one of my papers. I have no idea how it got there. You can still make out the shape of its head and three of its six little legs. It's left a large orange stain all around it.
I'm not sure why I'm saying this. Maybe I just felt like it.
The taste of something alien still lingers in my mouth. In no way unpleasant, just alien, different, and I can't remember if I wanted it there.
Hats... for clowns... lalalalalalala...
It seems everyone I talk to have parents who've split up, or know someone who's died. Sometimes I seem like the only normal person around.
I'm not. But sometimes it seems like it.
Maybe having nothing good to say about your life is normal now.
I heard a story today about a girl on drugs who was hit by a train. Her body was completely broken, you could have peeled her off the tracks with a spatula, but she was still alive and moaning in pain.
It doesn't seem right.
But then it never was, was it?
I know who I'm starting to sound like.
Maybe that's what I wanted.
Maybe I should just shut up now.