Aug 2013
i tried
so hard
for all of you to see
that i had lived my life
and i was done
because i couldn't take any more
and there was nothing more to give
and i was sick of barely sleeping
and waking up with headaches
and feeding a sour stomach
and nurturing a fictional soul.
i wanted you to just let me go.
and all our little problems would be solved.
but here i sit.
so hard
for all of you to see
that i had lived my life
and i was done
because i couldn't take any more
and there was nothing more to give
and i was sick of barely sleeping
and waking up with headaches
and feeding a sour stomach
and nurturing a fictional soul.
i wanted you to just let me go.
and all our little problems would be solved.
but here i sit.
It's one of those pensive, half-asleep nights in which I'm coated in self loathing. I've been surrounded by drunken young people and rampant objectification. I like to social, but large groups cause me great discomfort. Even as I write this, I can't keep my head of the pillow nor can I prevent my eyes from closing.
