I've been living for years in question... some obsession. Was I less to live without answers as a life cried wolf? I'm ashamed to mention my anguish, but silence lies empty. If I say it again can I kill it? Will you lend me your ear?
Breathe in, breathe out, exhale. Acting. Sweating. A broken smile provides them a view - projection is nothing new. Just once I'd like them to feel this. Suffer in my skin. For a moment stand in my shoes filled with swelling blues.
I keep this room and the room keeps me chained to my own hands (organs). I'm quarantined in a place that's dark. Staring at three walls. The door is locked behind me.
If I say it again can I kill it? If I say it again can I kill it?
Because they are sick of my complaining - and I'm sick of being sick.
(from the song "sick" by the band Lagwagon)
I'm full of shit. Every week I end up doing some random research chemical similar to coke/amp/meth and every week I promise myself it'll be the last time. I spend half my fucking tiny income on drugs and have plenty of things I need to pay for which just add up while I waste my money on bullshit.
I take out my frustration with myself on those around me and on myself. I am better at making amends these days, but I shouldn't need to keep apologizing for being an asshole. I'm just so fucking angry with myself that it spills over to everyone else.
I am sorry.
I've had the most amazing year of my adult life and I should be happy. Instead I stick white powders up my nose that cause nothing but insomnia and self-loathing. I don't even know any more...