Wednesday, September 8, 2010

perfect is a skinned knee.

i hate this room. it doesn't matter how clean or dirty it is.. what posters may be on the wall, what song may be playing on my playlist. i fucking hate it. it's my retreat to drown in my sympathies and wish to be left alone. i wish the door would never open and no one would ever bother me. it's sick as fuck and i shouldn't want to be alone. but all the people i want to see aren't in favor of me or don't have the means or interest to see me, i'm disconnected. i used to have something to look forward to every weekend. now the days all blur together and it seems like there's hardly any point to any of this anymore.

depression is familiarity to me, and familiarity is comfort.

the comfort is killing me.

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