standing on the edge of morning/
she's feeling worthless/
used again but nothing's different/
she'd stay the night/
but knows he doesn't care/

I'm not too sure why I can't get over myself like I've been telling everyone I should. I haven't really wanted to speak to people for days, apart from those few; an odd few. Close and not close, it gets odder. I know that I took that, but it's good. I don't really know what I've driven myself to. It's hard, I haven't laid down everything in writing, casting it into my memory that way, so I can't remember. I don't what I'm doing or what I've done. Desperation, but when was there ever any other choice? I don't really care anymore. I want it sorted out, but not like that.

Being drunk is good for some people. I still continue to build hopes on fountains of l'alcohol, and that's stupid. I can't help it, I guess.

I always needed to hurt myself by believing in something that didn't exist. Because I want to be taken care of, and I have to take the risks, because you won't, and gee-golly-goshdamnit I hate it.

she prays for days/
when boys mean she's protected/
and she wants someone to see her/
she needs to hear she's beautiful/
she's beautiful/

And the only person who did; I couldn't see it. But then, to have that feeling, that feeling that blinded me to everything else. That's part of it, that's part of what I'm hungry for. 'If no one loves you, then there must be something wrong with the world, it's the reason that everything is wrong, and that's why' ; 'I only feel guilty because I feel like I should love you, I just don't' . And you know that's not it. It's that magnified and amplified. Things won't ever stop being wrong, so there, I found your flaw. This won't ever leave, because I can't figure out, who decides what is wrong and right? And thankyou, because you all, all of you are the gorgeousest people there are in this little fabric world. And you know well enough, so very well, that I don't work without you. I'm just crazy, that's all it is. No wonder. And I think it's beautiful. And I want to inspire. I want to inspire the way she inspires, I want people to love me, the way you all love her, because I am human and I need to be loved, just like everyone else. And without you, this terrible imaginary you, I'm nothing.
And all this diary has been is a love letter to you, the you who doesn't exist.

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: