finished all my homework. now i'm sitting in my room with my broken back and lumpy throat. i chew on rocks and spit out dry wit. should i drag myself outside to get high? maybe. i don't know. right now it hurts to move and no one wants to talk to me when i'm free. they only want me when i'm busy. i feel like the world is a big game and i'm always "it". sometimes i don't feel like playing, but i do it anyway because people call me out for being a "buzzkill". 

it hurts to breathe, like white fire through my chest. i don't have a lot to say, but i'm trying. i just didn't want to express myself for a while because i didn't like the stuff that came out. i think i'm feeling a little better about myself, lately. a little isn't a lot, but it's enough. my eyes are sad, but i'm trying to smile anyway. people can tell, but there isn't anything they can do about it.

my love is weakly sour like an old lemon, like a joke gone a little wrong, like a fake greeting.

i've been listening to my old music and it hurts a lot because i used to be far more unhappy but i was hopeful. i'm better now but i'm not keen about anything. i'm prettier and skinnier now, but i'm frail and falling apart. i don't expect anything from people anymore though and i guess that's the biggest improvement.

the snow fell in big flakes and turned my hair white. i couldn't get myself to go to class today. i saw the minutes fly by and then it was too late to catch my bus. and then it became too late to drive down, too. i know people will make assumptions here and tell me that I need to take responsibility and that I need to change myself.  but honestly, i'm so overwhelmed. i don't like people looking at me when i'm outside. i don't want them to think about me. i don't want them to know how hard it is for me to put one foot in front of the other because they don't give a fuck. they have their own shit to deal with and, to them, i'm nothing but a pansy who's scared to live her goddamn life. it's easier to hide in my bed with my dog than to worry about things like that. it's easier to smoke weed and feel safe under the covers. the solution is obvious. stop smoking weed, go to class and do my work, become a successful whatever, be happy, etc, etc. 

my back hurts and my chest hurts and all i want to do is sleep. i'm just so very sad. and i know it's up to me to make myself feel better. believe me, i'm trying, okay? i don't want to feel this way. it's hard to find warmth right now, let alone the way out of this mess. i'll be okay soon. at least, i'll try to be. 

i don't speak to my mother tonight. i was too stoned when she came home so i hid in my room until she went to sleep. i decided last night that i wanted to be closer to her because i love her, but i don't think i've ever done a very good job of closeness. i have my priorities all mixed up. what happened to me? i guess that, when my heart broke too much, my resolve broke too. at least, that's my theory. i need to stop being such an idiot, right?

he came over today and told me he liked my body. he's too old for me, but i answered the door in little black underwear and we screwed all afternoon. for lunch, we went through the drive-thru at mcdonalds and i used my coupons to get us cheap lunch. it sounds trashy, but it was actually pleasant. i don't want to skip class anymore though. i don't like the path i'm on. it's the devil's path, if you look at it in a puritanical perspective.

the lazy days will ruin me. each day that i accomplish nothing is another step toward a mediocre future.

round two, boxer lips and cacophony. what is my art? i miss my drive. i'm calmer now, but my net worth is low. i do nothing. i waste time. i'm so tired all the time. but i'm calm and i cry less. i try less. is it worth the net loss? i don't know. i don't know how to start over. i don't know what i wanted to accomplish in the first place. how do you trace back (skin upon skin upon skin) through time? in all honesty, i'm writing for no one. i don't even think i'm writing for myself.

i remember how trapped i used to feel. i realize now that i've always created my own loneliness. i am not misunderstood. i am disregarded. where do people find meaning?

i stand in my garage wearing gym shorts and a black peacoat covered in dog hair. i let out a gust of smoke that dissipates quickly into the afternoon of falling snow. i am blurry and unfocused. my neighbour across the street is shoveling his driveway diligently. he's wearing nice boots and nice-fitting black peacoat. he brings in the recycling bins and cleans out his garage. he has his shit together. i am vacant and worthless.

it's like trying to run through thigh-deep water. i know. if i want to be successful, i need to want success as much as i want oxygen. but what is success? is it success in school? success at work? success on a relationship level? because i have such a hard time being fulfilled by any of that. i can't remember ever feeling fulfilled. nothing fills me with passion or gives me a reason to actually want to leave my house. i'm indecisive and dull, lately. i can't decide what to eat for breakfast. so i don't eat breakfast. my mother comes home in the evening and heats up frozen springrolls.

it's so quiet. i clear my throat but i have nothing to say.

the atmosphere on this website is a lot different than it was before. people are happy to pick apart things that they don't know anything about. there have always been elitists here, but i feel like there aren't very many real individuals anymore. i wish people would be more empathetic.

there's nothing wrong with being sad and wanting to feel better. my temper flares up easily. and tonight i'm having a lonely night. so many friends, yet so little substance. and i have nobody but myself to blame. closeness scares me. i mean, what do i even say? honesty is alright to a certain degree and there's only so much you can embellish before you lose face.

being unhealthy used to be edgy, but i'm not starving for an art anymore. i'm wasting away because of negligence. i'm not doing horribly. i'm just not doing so well. my chest hurts and mouth is dry. i think about him a lot, still, and i know it's a waste of time. there's nothing to say anymore and i know we're both better off because of it.

blue, green, green, over and out.

all my problems are overflowing from my head and spilling out of my mouth. i'm doing okay, overall. i wish i could tidy up my mind though. it's full of garbage and useless sentiments-- i apologize for the redundancy. i want some clarity and motivation. but i spend most of my time with in my car with my eyes glazed over. 

and it's not a bad life. i love laughing and being useless with my friends. it's pleasant. i don't have a lot of complaints. i need to stop crying about things that shouldn't matter anymore, though. it doesn't help anything. i need some new hobbies, but it's hard getting out of bed for anything other than school, work, or friends. 

i need to stop eating a big bowl of sad every morning and turning my bed into a prison some days. i have too much potential, yet i lack passion. it's so hard to find anything to care about these days. it's all either risky or boring. but i suppose it's important to make an effort. it's better than ruminating over the past. 

i'm slowly dying and i don't know if i'm making the most of my prime.