I’m angry at myself for being angry. Can I be considered to be rational when I know I’m being irrational? Fuck optimism. Look where that’s gotten me. Lost.
Tired, oh so. I’ve succeeded at so many things, yet I can’t but realize my failure to understand. There was to be more to that sentence, but I think the period was placed quite sufficiently.
Such an asshole. I disappoint myself. Fuck it. I’ll pretend some more. I deserve these feelings for feeling like this. Why. Why? Why! I can punctuate with punctuation. Yeah, me!
god, I wanna cry. Lowercase g, if you didn’t notice. Not deserving of a proper noun right now. Finally I can admit to my indoctrination and rid myself from that bullshit. Take that, childhood.
Who am I writing this for? I guess myself since few will read it. And those who do, do so out of some sense of obligation. Thanks, superficiality!
Who am I to criticize? I guess by now I can consider myself to be a subject matter expert at being critical. That’s who I am, I assume. Emerson, help me! I need some self reliance. But he’s dead. Maybe I am too. Or maybe I should be.
The drugs don’t work. That’s what Ben Harper sang. I agree with him. I’m so weak, deserving of my circumstance. Not for lack of trying. I try too hard. Perhaps my focus is in the wrong areas.
Can you tell me who I am? That’s okay, neither can I. I won’t hold that against you. Or maybe I will, I don’t know. It’s confusing. Kinda like my life, at least as I see it.
Sleep, come to me. I need you, now more than ever! I can find many a lost thing, but you elude me still. Fuck you. You’re supposed to be my friend. So are my friends.
Don’t judge me. I judge myself enough.
