My thoughts are a bit blurred; a frenzied night of music, drinks, smoke and smiling. I'm sore as a sailor, and alone a little. Wish you'd see me, Strange Place. I've developed an attraction, more of a infatuation. Or infection.
I desire deep pain. Listening to sad songs and hoping I could shed a few tears. Not for any valid reason. I just miss depression so much. This numbness consumes my thoughts and ensnares my feelings. I would rather feel pain than nothing at all.
Wish granted now. I'm pitifully envious. I hate everything about me, every single aspect. My selfishness, my sadness, my idiocy. My fat, my cheeks, my nose, lips, eyes, EVERYTHING. And I hate myself for hating myself. I'm just chasing my tail here, no point in it. But when these beautiful girls flaunt their looks, their talents, I feel useless.What's the point if I can never be that good? Why even try?
The point. The point is to be better, no matter what. Always improving, even if it kills me. I know I'll never meet my own standards, set up by my father. If only. I will become a blank page, absorbing the color and light around me.
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