SO this morning started off with a roll of toiler paper being bounced of my sleepy head and a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY - FUCK YOU" anthem. thanks aaron.
I came back home to relized that even when there is nothing going on here i still hate the place. I really hate it here. i hate the look of white walls. i hate the writting on the walls, i hate having to feel this way because of where i live. its this apartment. paradise and freedom turned black and dismal. so i type. at least i have an outlet right?
...riiiight. its better than, well its better than the me that i know. that i knew.
i sketched my life out the way that i wanted it.
i tried to piece it all together
but the pieces didn't fit
i carved my story into my flesh to show you
the blood covered hands buried my face
scattered memories get carried away by hot tears
still i push aside my thoughts
so i could keep going
but the pain caught up all to fast
emotions - all twisted
nothing to ease this depression that has taken control
reality has finally sunk into soft skin
things don't ever turn out as you plan
i miss home.
i just keep telling myself i have felt worse. and this is a phase. it will pass. i just wish i don't give two shits anymore. life is easier that way. it was easier when i was numb.
now i'm just cold.
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