I, I, I AM SELFISH>

I don't want to do any work. I don't want to have a job. I want to run away. I want to get lost in another life. Because I've spoilt this one? Because I could start fresh, and begin everything again. But I've tried that, of course, and everyone is always the same. I AM THE SAME. And I will always be the same. I can't escape me & that terrifies me the most. I am self-indulgent and, I want free time, I want time to be myself, to run away from myself, to starve myself, and cut myself and be generally childish and indulgent when it comes to my feelings. I want to die, or I want to suffer, BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE I want to feel something. I don't want to drown in this life, not always caught in this wind and be trapped like this, always moving and busy and tired, and empty,always walking empty and uninspired, bland. A distinct lack of personality, no one, no catches, I always wanted to make a difference: to change things and I did, I'm destructive. It's selfish but I like it, it's deliciously rushed, an adrenaline rush, to fill me up to the brim, being tangled in other people's personalities, toes. WORK I DON'T LIKE. COLLEGE I DON'T LIKE. When I am alive and exciting, excited, alive or feeling something. When I am tipped out of this fat, disgusting complacency into something to live and breathe for. To become alive for. The only problem is that you have to be alive for these things to happen. And I am trying! I am trying to colour myself back in, to stop eating, to, to, to, feel something! But gollygoshgoddamn is it hard. And it's okay, to be cold-fingered, hands shaking, whole-body-shaking, and my head dizzy right next to, you because I hate you and because I feel sick. Because ONE: it is secret and no one has to know, of course they do, but not then, then then then it is MINE. of course the next progression is to ACT as I FEEL. That is what is important. But one must feel something in order to do this. But firstly, it's okay, but of course, it dissipates as soon as you leave, or soon after. it is gone, that's it. I can't feel it when you aren't there. and hate isn't good, but it is something IT IS SOMETHING i am grasping at straws. gripping with fingers falling off. and i can't get it out, I can't get out. i can't get out of here. out of routine and mediocrity and and and and nothing. TWO: i am justified, i have reasons! i have a worthy reason. it is a little unclear, blurry, bloody, blurry and hazy. because of promises you made, you promised and vaguely YOU DID. no, you held my hands across the table after i'd lied for you and everything, and on your bed and you promised which makes me feel sick. in a perverse way i am happy, now that you are out of my fucking way, you don't exist. it is good this sort of freedom. no more existing for you! smiling, smiling and what next what now? who now, to live for? who to live for now, now now now there is nothing, but there has been for sometime, but i still pinned that ideal on you, but who now, to pin it onto, or to blast it out of the way?


Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: