snoozing home, young angel.
I'll walk up to you and say hello and we'll smile as though this life really is something nice. It's not something I would ever do. These things, I might practice and act out in my head and get everything perfect and right but when it comes out, I'll fumble and fall and I'll realize how awkward I really am so then I won't think anybody'd like me so I turn my eyes down because that's still something I haven't fully learned to get over and then we'll say bye and I'll walk away hoping you'll shout, "wait!" but you won't and I'll surpress the urge to actually get off my ass and do something but that won't happen either because nothing ever happens. And nothing really ever ends up mattering because I'll continue to drive myself insane and that isn't always such a bad thing because being happy means being boring and dull and then I couldn't ever actually do anything I love -- things that make me happy, ironically. It'll be a vicious cycle I'll forever deny myself for the fun of it.
There's a reason my my mind stops me from sleeping, I know there is.
Then we should pretend I never write like this but I'll still keep it public and un-deleted, maybe. Self-destruction, yea?