(no subject)
its time i get away for awhile. leave this place behind again, for how long i don't know. i never can stay away for very long, i miss the only thing that's ever stayed constant in my life. this house, and these drugs. i've been thinking that maybe it's time to try and get clean again, at least hold off for a couple days rather than what seems like just a couple minutes.
i fucked a chick lastnight who's name i don't remember. i met her that day actually. smoking a cigarette and laying in my bed i felt wasted. i wanted to be alone. i told her to hit the road. i layed in my bed naked for a long time, smoking cigarette after cigarette. i guess i was hoping to feel something, and still i feel nothing. i feel honestly empty, and there's holes that nothing can fill up. drugs are my temporary plug, and days spent laying on my basement floor are the only times when my mind is at ease. simply because i still believe my heart still stops.
my chest pains have been getting worse. i don't know whether it's my actual heart murmer, or the hole in it growing deeper, right to the core of it's very cold, black hearted nature. i can still feel the sting of everything that once was, and it eats me a little more every day. i think i'm short half a stomach as i don't eat hardly at all. i think my body has begun to eat itself. i look dead. i might as well be. i don't talk to anyone anymore, i can't be bothered. i don't know anything. i used to be knowledgable and witty, but that's all been thrown away like the used needles.
i miss the way things used to be, when i at least believed i had my shit together. when everything was what it was, and there were no worries, and no risks. everyone says that the only way to fix your life is if you want too, and i think that's a crock of shit. you get to a certain point, and it's beyond repair. life, in all it's glory, in the end is worth nothing. i think in order to die, you have to have something to leave behind, something that you felt you could not live without. i have nothing. am i doomed to live forever in a world where i hold myself prisoner, when the key has been in my pocket the whole time. morals are like keys, and i lost my set a long time ago, and have never bothered to have thyem replaced. what's the point, the lock is broken anyway.
a friend of mine thinks my life serves some poetic injustice. whatever the fuck that means. i think he's a fucking retard. he's so fake to me i can hardly stand it. telling me about his life. he thinks he has his shit together, i know more about him than he does. i know his old lady is banging the neighbor, and i know his daughter cuts her wrists. i know that his son is a faggot and when he tells his dad he's going to the bar with his friends, the money his father gives him gets stuffed down pretty boy g-strings. i know that when he's all alone by himself in his sad little house with it's white picket fence, he drinks himself to tears, and then passes out. i know. i see right through it. people say that drug users are some of the most blind and ignorant people in the world. people whgo don't get it, who can't see past their own noses that are raw with coke, or can't extend their needle tracked arms to help someone else out. you're right, they can't, they're afraid to. but they aren't blind, and they aren't ignorant, they aren't stupid, they are more real then anyone else in the world. they may have sold the soul to the devil for drugs, but they can never sell piece of mind. think about that next time you see a junkie on the street.
go back to living your little white lies you son of a bitches, and i'll live the reality for you.
i fucked a chick lastnight who's name i don't remember. i met her that day actually. smoking a cigarette and laying in my bed i felt wasted. i wanted to be alone. i told her to hit the road. i layed in my bed naked for a long time, smoking cigarette after cigarette. i guess i was hoping to feel something, and still i feel nothing. i feel honestly empty, and there's holes that nothing can fill up. drugs are my temporary plug, and days spent laying on my basement floor are the only times when my mind is at ease. simply because i still believe my heart still stops.
my chest pains have been getting worse. i don't know whether it's my actual heart murmer, or the hole in it growing deeper, right to the core of it's very cold, black hearted nature. i can still feel the sting of everything that once was, and it eats me a little more every day. i think i'm short half a stomach as i don't eat hardly at all. i think my body has begun to eat itself. i look dead. i might as well be. i don't talk to anyone anymore, i can't be bothered. i don't know anything. i used to be knowledgable and witty, but that's all been thrown away like the used needles.
i miss the way things used to be, when i at least believed i had my shit together. when everything was what it was, and there were no worries, and no risks. everyone says that the only way to fix your life is if you want too, and i think that's a crock of shit. you get to a certain point, and it's beyond repair. life, in all it's glory, in the end is worth nothing. i think in order to die, you have to have something to leave behind, something that you felt you could not live without. i have nothing. am i doomed to live forever in a world where i hold myself prisoner, when the key has been in my pocket the whole time. morals are like keys, and i lost my set a long time ago, and have never bothered to have thyem replaced. what's the point, the lock is broken anyway.
a friend of mine thinks my life serves some poetic injustice. whatever the fuck that means. i think he's a fucking retard. he's so fake to me i can hardly stand it. telling me about his life. he thinks he has his shit together, i know more about him than he does. i know his old lady is banging the neighbor, and i know his daughter cuts her wrists. i know that his son is a faggot and when he tells his dad he's going to the bar with his friends, the money his father gives him gets stuffed down pretty boy g-strings. i know that when he's all alone by himself in his sad little house with it's white picket fence, he drinks himself to tears, and then passes out. i know. i see right through it. people say that drug users are some of the most blind and ignorant people in the world. people whgo don't get it, who can't see past their own noses that are raw with coke, or can't extend their needle tracked arms to help someone else out. you're right, they can't, they're afraid to. but they aren't blind, and they aren't ignorant, they aren't stupid, they are more real then anyone else in the world. they may have sold the soul to the devil for drugs, but they can never sell piece of mind. think about that next time you see a junkie on the street.
go back to living your little white lies you son of a bitches, and i'll live the reality for you.