im done with you, get the fuck out of my life.
you make me feel sick.
relax
you’re not the only one in pain
learn to help
stop focusing on yourself, when others matter so much more.
(Source: streakythesupercat)
seasonal affective disorder?
and often times I ask myself, how long has it been like this? I don’t remember when it wasn’t like this, to be honest. I’ve always thought that, maybe, it will all go away. but its been years. years and years. and yet, still, I feel no progress. I’m almost a junior and I still feel like I’m in seventh grade, dreaming, dreaming of decay. I want to starve myself of everything that ever felt like hope. I want wave goodbye to what ever felt like truth, I want to leak myself of every bit of blood I have. I want to feel poetry. I want to watch the lines drip, I want to feel the heat of every drop. I want slice and slice until I’m a mere carving of what I used to be. The most beautiful part of death is the art afterwords, I believe. this isn’t poetry. these are sentences, awkwardly trying to fit together to tell a story of decomposition. I dream of you, I dream of being wanted. I dream of being held, being pulled back when I walk away. I am nothing. I am everything. I need to evaporate, I need to melt. I’m losing the skin on my lips, I’m peeling away every layer of myself that I can find. I am the twisted idea beauty, I am the breakdown. I can feel myself rotting.
you’re not evil
you’re just
easy to misinterpret
I hate you
I dislike you
I resent you
I dont understand you
let go
not worth it
