2006-02-06 - 11:42 p.m.
If you ever see me scribbling in TINY writing, it usually means an entry for this journal. Yep.
We don't have any of that crazy stuff. Don't fall. It's unfathomable. Try to piece it together. The parts fit. You can't even question it. Every time you think you can grasp it, you die just a bit more. Dark. Pathetic. "Rescue me, and take me in your arms. Rescue me." like that song you've heard so many times. An hour since you began to inject the caffeine. Drowning. Looking for a way out. The world's on speed. Never enough time. Overwhelming. You stare at boys in black hoodies. Bleary-eyed with a bleak future. Broken. Coffee fiend, not Fiend Club.
Stupid rhymes about stupid attempts. It's a collection of failures, a sad way to be. Don't doubt. There's nothing worse than being stuck in a rut, a way of life that you've come to hate, dwindling, restless, at your wit's end, afraid to continue but unsure of how to switch paths. You're stupid. Notes. Lyrics. Meaningless. Overwrought with your own guilt. Just get through it. Keep your sanity, please. Nobody else wants it. Don't sleep, don't eat, don't care.
You're sitting here babbling about the bitchiness and inanity. There's nothing but the urge to run away from this academic wasteland. Jaded. Hated. Girls like you never win. Rough. Unrefined. Somewhat lost. Angry but nonthreatening. Socially inept. You don't want to be this way forever. He couldn't have known. Interest? No. Marker? More likely. Who'd have thought this girl would see the world this way? She wanted to know what turned you into the mess you are now, and it's a myriad of things. Drown it out.
"You're beat down and stepped upon, and the wheel goes 'round and 'round. Despair and frustration keeps me awake at night. They've become my closest friends." - Time In Malta, "Perform the Surgery"
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