I cannot justify a reason to breathe as I am made from nothing more than everyone else.
Why me, why must I have caught this bug that is so toxic and consuming.
I am nothing more than just a pile of bones that can move on their own self-accord
Uneducated and bleating like the rest to the marching sheep in society shepherded by the few intelligent who manipulate them into profit and statistics to cultivate capital gain from.
I want to badly to me independent yet I am so needy, in a sickening common sort of feminine way. People will never like you because you aren't chill, because not caring about anything has become the pinnacle of what it means to be "cool".
As loserish as I am I will continue to stagger stuck and bound by my own mind, because I cannot live for myself.
I wish I would just die because I am just a plague to everyone else and the whole world.
The call it depression, at least I want to **** myself less than what I used to
I give up
I wanna die
Please someone help me
I am not a sweet girl
I am evil and sad filled with demons and mold
I think I might die soon,
That would be better
Because then people could just get on with things

Oh, poor lonely girl
You spent your years dreaming
and evaporated all your friends away
You saw the others dancing like puppets
with God yanking the strings
Your world was in your head, not on your feet
No one could see inside your benign imagination
Held your breath in the presence of others
Stood up straight to avoid being disagreeable
Cried the fool to silence the demons
Wrote yourself out of other peoples futures with a happy, shiny ending
Dived underwater to be a mermaid while others blew bubble in shallow rock pools.
You drove nails through your ankles and wrists to save others from yourself
Poor lonesome, lost, artless child
perpetually pendulating
toddling and falling
into the washing machines on spin cycle that is other peoples lives.
They traumatize you like ominous spinning tops.

Lost, lovely child
You have imagined a storm, when it is all just tepid, still, innocent water.
Nonetheless, you continue to drown.

Your mind is delicate like a berry souffle
Strong yet sweet like a cremeburlee
Full of clever musings and beautiful thoughts
Witty ironies and cunning retorts
When you speak it fills my ears like a symphony
You are my major and I am your harmonising minor key

Oh my self-loathing is disgustingly indulgent, It destroys my health
I wallow with glee for hours in the pits of my own self-hatred
Everything I do say and see I use as ammo in an endless war against myself
Repulsive, *******,
Excentric , erratic
Shy, fake, problematic
I wish I had a plug hole
In the soupy head of mine
That I could just pull out
And all the darkness would go down the drain and I’d be fine
But my fansty world turns on me
And casts shadows on others
I don’t see them in their true light
As my fellow sisters and brothers
By day the world grinds in my head
An endless mill of screams
By night by actions haunt me
In rancid vivid dreams
This assemblage of stupid attributes that is me
Follows this girl around relentlessly
Too fixated on yourself, you selfish *****
You hate everyone else and make them a demon or a witch
This demon lives inside the gray matter that is your brain
It turns any sunny day into melancholic rain
I will live alone with no comfort but my own insanity
I see those on the streets who do the same and fear that destiny
After all,
Is madness not a sane response to the collective psychosis that is society?

She works a strange offbeat job
The type that requires things to be mis-matched
Where the place is decked with contradicting oddities which have
acquired small black dots and scuff marks of which origins are unbeknown to the keeper
Her thoughts lie like breezes between crumpled coffee stained pieces of paper haphazardly kissed with ink
Her work does not require fruit but it does sugar, salt and vinegar
Her hair is never neat but is always perfectly messed
She always leaves a little milky bitter pool in the bottom of her tea cup
She goes on with her head swirling in celestial affairs

A culture of stiff refinement as pain wheat and sugar biscuits are served with perfectly over-extracted coffee

The crumbs fall onto the concrete Wir gefühl and cultivates mold which lets of tiny spores of resentment and discontentment stinging the eyes of those who dance in from other lands.

Girls
They sound their doubts like backwards words in Russian, full of uncertainty.
He said this or that or didn't say this or that.
He looked at his friend too long
He didn't txt back for hours
He said words that could be refolded into something unheard
He didn't gaze into her eyes or behold them like they were precious gems
He didn't manicure her locks as they were threads of silk
His smile didn't ring to the sound of her bubbling golden laughter
He didn't curate her like the master piece she was.
All these girls
Breaking their hearts over my ears
The gooey dark yolks blurring my vision