i'm going to die one day isn't that weird
the world existed long before me and it will continue to exist long after me and that's just it
and then i will come back as whatever i will be in the next life and bless the world with my undying soul
this body is a vessel and really you can't get rid of me
take that, haters
it was almost like he threw his soul and everything that bounded him as a human being just went away.
sometimes i sit here when i am sad and i think about how easily i could turn to a blade but then i realize that it’s too much effort anymore and that you shouldn’t waste your energy doing destructive things over temporary emotions
sometimes music plays from my walls at night and that's okay
sometimes at 3am i hear a man's voice coming from the living room and then my dog starts barking but i don't question it
that's okay too
i've watched so many horror movies & read so many stories that when i'm scared i just think "if i'm meant to die, i will"
don't be scared because whatever's supposed to happen will happen whether you like it or not
i’m afraid. i’m absolutely terrified of losing you. i assume things. these ******* scenarios replay in my head like a broken record every second of every ******* day and sometimes i convince myself that they’re real. they broke me, everyone in my past. they completely shattered me. i try so hard to find the courage to trust people but every time i have it just gets torn down again. why am i so stuck in the past? i visit the past so frequently that sometimes days, even weeks will pass and i won’t realize it because i’m trapped in this nightmare of a mind. this is a new form of self-mutilation, and it’s killing me quicker than when my skin was opened, quicker than when my wrists were slammed against the table corner, and hell, even quicker than when i swallowed a fist full of pills every day to give me the numbing high so i could bear the real world. i am weak. i may have “recovered” from physically injuring myself but i’ve got this new method and it seems to be staying for good. you know, the sick part is, that somewhere deep inside of me, i must like it. it acts as a shield. constantly having your guard up is a lovely way to live until you take a peek into reality and see that you’re slowly killing off the people who truly care about you. i am selfish. i am weak. and i am so, so sorry.
i want to write out what this feeling is like but i’m so ******* sick of my own metaphors
i don’t want to write about how deep the ocean is or how i can feel this and that in my bones
i don’t want to be that kind of writer, i don’t want to be cliché
i just want to say that i’ve felt so detached lately, like i’m made of different parts taken from different junk yards and i have a feeling in my gut that i’m either going to be a really big nothing or a really small something
i want to be good at something
writing and being poetic is too easy
why are we so easily fascinated by someone who can compare two unlikely things and talk about how the sky bends and how your fingers tremble at the thought of being destructive
this is too easy
there's a lot of "don't"s that i've been doing lately and a lot of habits from the past are starting to show their faces again
i guess something in me thinks a drug addiction will help me write like i used to
it used to