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434
everyone around me is so creative and interesting and talented, while i'm just alive, wasting air and have the same reasons to get shot as an old stray dog.
434
this brain isn't functioning humanely. it works like a machine, especially the killing ones.
434
i sleep about my problems during the day and suffer from insomnia caused by the fact that i didn't solve them during the night.
434
you are so full of sorrow that it spills out of your edges, poisoning everything around you and coloring them to that specific shade of gray that can only be found in gravestones.
434
i can stay up late whenever i want, and other than that, it's nothing like i'd thought. i guess i thought i'd know what i'm doing by now, but i know nothing. and i know it very well i am mortgaged to the irrational thought.
434
it's so humiliating to be around this race. i wish i could be a cat, a rock, a dirty cup of coffee, anything but what i am.
