VentingI don't know what to do with myself. Down in the dumps, but don't want any sympathy. It's a road I've grown quite familiar with. I know it like the back of my hand. And what makes it worse, it's all my damn fault. I've thrown my life down the drain. I'm getting evicted. The few friends I have that actually give a damn about me are busy making something of themselves, too busy to really give me the time of day anymore. I don't hold it against them, more myself for being such a loser. Can't keep a decent job. That doesn't bother me. Can't keep a house. That doesn't bother me. Can't keep a relationship, and don't want one, so that doesn't bother me. What bothers me is how pointless my daily routine has become, and it's pointing in the direction of failure everywhere I turn. Maybe this is too personal to be sharing, but frankly, I've got no one else, and I feel like I'm talking to myself no matter who I talk to, so I guess this is no different.
Utopia EverlastingOnce a vibrant butterfly with thoughts lucid far beyond the limits of a childs imagination; now reduced to ashes blowing in the wind, in whichever direction the gusts deem fit. I am notably drone, not in the sense of people trapped in bondage by concepts of media and society, but still dull by comparison to younger years. Where did I go astray? Seems years have passed since I lost myself, lost how it felt to be alive. Lost the uncanny ability to see the world and all its trillions of colors, to see the beauty of it all withheld in a single glimpse of a withered rose or falling leaves, or snow-covered picket fences, or a stranger offering comfort to an abandoned child cowering amongst shadows. I blinded myself from all of it. Simply because one point in my life brought a different scene into perspective; one unholy and shallow, dark and deceptive. And nothing could have prepared me for it. But what an exc
Four years, 100,000 tears ago.I hate living here. I hate the way my parents treat me, like I am nothing. I can't and will never do anything right, nothing is ever good enough for them. I hear the way they talk about me when they think I can't hear them. And it doesn't help that I have a little sister who's virtually perfect in their eyes. I am locked inside my own head. I have so much I want to say to them that I can't, although even if I did I don't think it would make much of a difference to them, and I doubt they would understand at all. Because they don't listen. They can't hear what I am trying so desperately to tell them. They wonder why I get so agitated when they talk to me or pretend to want to help me with something like homework...usually when they do talk to me it's about something I didn't do that I was supposed to, or something I did do but I did it wrong. I don't know what to think anymore.