(no subject)

Nov 06, 2008 16:53

I thought that having time to do anything meant I would do something. I was wrong.

no one can save me from myself. I'm lonely. you'd think I'd be used to it. I thought I'd be used to it. wrong, wrong wrong.

when I said I was going to go home and contemplate crying, I wasn't lying. my favorite persons wall is covered in people I don't ever see. it's kind of hard. so I sit with my cigarettes and my drink and it's not all right, alright. and then I think about doing something good for myself and don't. I won't.

I've been living with someone who's had scabies for 15 months. every time I think of the word, I start to itch. in bed, I itch. wearing pants, I itch. at work, I itch. in the car, itch itch itch. you'd think I got it but I don't. it's funny, okay. hahhaha. none of it seems real. if this is life, I'm obviously doing something wrong. or there's something wrong with me. I think it's a bit of both.

I open my mailbox, and there's nothing. I open my door, and there's nothing. I open my mind, and there's nothing. I open my heart, _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.
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