stop these looks and letters

I wanted today to be a productive sort of day. it wasn't.

I always think that if I smoke, I'll get some shit done. but deep down I know it'll only knock me the fuck out. I passed out on the couch, again. I'm tired of doing that.

I'm tired of being tired.

I'm tired of this fucking mood. I don't know how to explain it. but it creeps up on me and seeps through my pores. it consumes me. and I hate it.

it's angst, it's bitterness, it's confusion. I don't feel well. I feel...too warm. too cold. I don't know.

your voice made my stomach twist into a knot. it wasn't upsetting, it wasn't saddening. I didn't feel alone or envious, or bitter. almost nostalgic, you could say.

I long for familiarity. for a friend's company, a lover's touch, just something that eliminates this lingering apprehension. whatever it is, the imprint is unsettling.

I stayed up way too late last night. I had so many conversations going on, my mind was spinning. I laid in bed and felt extremely weak. and sick. sick to my stomach.

My eyelids are heavy and I feel like my innocence is gone.

Where did my happiness go? I had it, it was within my grasp. I held it tight, close to my chest. but at the same time, I pushed it away. that happens too many times. it's just push and pull.

I have tried, so many times, to find enjoyment in another. and when I did, it wasn't mutual. it became so irritating. I feel like I can't find satisfaction, and after a while, it just becomes normal. I use and abuse.

Old news, old news.

if you think you're using me, I guarantee I have beat you to it. I'm using you.

it's late friday night. I hope kids are getting drunk right now. or they're already drunk. stoned. twisted, sick. somewhat out of their minds. doing things that they would never dare to do sober. no one has the guts 'til there's a foreign influence in their system. they speak without hesitancy, touch to feel the friction. their confidence is ever so high. and it shouldn't be. they're cocky little bastards.

I hate high school. barf.

and I hate this mood.

I can hear my cat snoring. that's basically the only thing that's bringing me any sort of contentment right now.

I just wish I had...you. or some version of you. maybe just the voice. and the touch. but I'd alter other characteristics....frankenstein. I wish I could make my own person. then I'd know I'd always be satisfied. happiness would be consistent.

I need some consistency.

why am I not good enough? I don't understand.

stop the circulation to my legs and break my bones

dateless and late, I'm better by myself at home.