Wednesday, August 25, 2010

August the Twenty-Fifth of Two Thousand and Ten

Oh, August twenty-fifth, tell me what is wrong. Tell me why I am so sad. Tell me why I do not care. Tell me, day, I demand an answer. I feel hopeless inside and everything around me is slowly, but surely, coming to an end.

Everything means nothing to me, and nothing still means nothing. When will this apathy end? When will I understand my own self. High school is for growth and change, but I already know what I believe in and who I am. Christ, why can't I understand the way I feel?!

It feels like a rock, like I swallowed a rock. Inside me, there is a bag of sand. A bag of lump. A bag of something. A bag of nothingness. A bag of despair. And yes, I swallowed it. For there it sits inside me with a pleased look of satisfaction on its face as I cry myself to sleep. As I stare aimless at my friends. As I start to find no desire for anything. It poisons my system, takes over my brain. My prefrontal cortex, my emotions system, decomposes and this nothingness, this lump, carries a smug look and hates me. It just loathes my existence and my life. It despises me so much, that it made me swallow it, so that it could evilly destroy me from the inside out. So, day, when I die, I guess everyone will know why.

But it is more than that. I can't stop lying to you-as you got a taste of today. I'm done, fed up. I'm not kidding around anymore. You know, and yet you continue. Stop choking it down to bad decisions, because people worth my time learn from their mistakes. I'm not laughing it off anymore because it was never funny in the first place. Stop demanding from me too. Not cool. If you ever bothered to fully read the black note I left you it said something to this effect, "And I kissed him because I wanted to. Not because I was forced to. [He] would never do that." It's like you broke my heart. BROKE IT. "My heart's not a spring." I can't just grab some duct tape and fix it myself. Maybe that's why it's so sour to say those three words. Because my hearts broken. And know I'm falling out of love. I am sorry that this happened. That I spoke up at all. Or that until you read this, I will keep lying to you.

No, this isn't PMS. This is me. Finally. I've snapped. So, watch out world; here I come.


'Treat me right,
start a fight.
I keep waiting
for the sky to fall.
The Earth trembles
and he leads me away.'

No comments:

Post a Comment