Polkadot

Where do you put your grief and all your unfulfilled dreams? Do you burry it inside your bones or hide it between your lids?

hearing teenagers talk about their dreams makes me feel some type of way that no words could explain. they seem so free while doing so. it just made me realize how much life has happened to me and how I barely find time for myself to sit and and think of what I would like to do with my life like I used to when I was 16. (Feeling like an old geezer)

I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, who to love and how to tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong. And I know that is why people want people like you in their lives. Because you just tell them how to do it. You just tell them what to do. And what they’ll get out of the end of it. And even though I don’t believe your bullshit and I know that scientifically nothing I do makes any difference in the end anyway, I’m still scared, why am I still scared? Just fucking tell me what to do, Father.

Yes, i watch the most tertifiying movies that man kind ever produced just to be sure i got a heart and it has other functions other than pumping blood

It takes me two weeks to answer their texts and they answer me in a heartbeat

I need to talk to someone, about everything, things that no one knows but me, to say what's going on in my heart, to cry on someone's shoulder for hours, and that person just keeps silent in response.

im so good at sleeping and napping and resting and going zzzzz yall have no idea

the hypocrisy of living as a human being will never sit right with me. the constant tug between solitude and company. the desire to love so desperately and simultaneously be detached from it all. the need to be seen, but the comfort in being invisible. — this painful wanting everything and seeking nothing at all.

he wrote and wrote just for one reader he can't even remember.

you're falling on the floor crying thinking, "I am falling to the floor crying," but there's an element of the ridiculous to it. you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you're on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn't paint it very well." — Richard Siken

I wonder if there is a way out, or if i'm just bound to circle the same drain a thousand times more. there is a certain dread to noticing how familiar it feels, how I've been here already a thousand times before. I thought I had gotten better and then I realise it was just the circumstances changing, not me. it's tiring. I hate how much everything gives me deja vu.

"your life's a reflection of your choices" nah uh there's no way this shit is the reflection of my choices cause I don't get high on happiness

Packup your things we are going insane

whenever you want to talk to me, make sure about what song I'm listening to, cause my whole personality will change per every song i listen.

It's either another depressive episode or I need a hair cut . . Yk what Let's just skip this life

they say the more you recall a memory the less real it becomes so I sit here, and remember you back to kindness