My New Year
Sometimes it gets to be too much.
And all that my body can hold,
Can not contain all the things I feel.
It is big enough to lose my thoughts.
But too small to find a place to mask them all.
There is a point, when I can go no farther.
I wake up in dread of leaving my bed.
Coming back to take a nap.
Before long it is dark, and I am blue.
While I fall asleep drooling nyquil.
I awake, and cry to be alive.
It's one and I can't live seven more hours.
When I got my sleep in the hospital,
Sipping on eight ounces of black syrup.
Needles puncture my hands.
I am ready to go away.
It's time again, Elliott Smith.
Not since the King's Crossing,
Not since I gave up.
Not since my death and my dress.
Sometimes getting better means being alone.
My hands are shaky.
I feel my throat throbbing.
And eat the dinner of my demise.
Oh god, it has been a long time since I have written in my journal, the last time would have to be the worst day of my life. And I will now make public that entry.
[Mon, Jan 1, 07|12:27p]
God, I am so depressed. I have felt awful since last night. I had plans, and they fell though in big ways. So I watched the ball drop with my mom and step-dad. It was one of the most depressing things I have ever seen. Then I made Jon come over here, and I decided to take a few shots before he came. I mean it didn't matter, we just watched family guy. And that's it. Just we didn't even sit together. He took the couch and I opted for the floor. He doesn't like me. He totally doesn't. God it's been like a year and a half. And he has no feelings for me. That is really making me depressed. I have such a headache. And I feel so depressed and emo. I don't know what- my mom just left for work- I think I am going to cry. I am so sad
And all that my body can hold,
Can not contain all the things I feel.
It is big enough to lose my thoughts.
But too small to find a place to mask them all.
There is a point, when I can go no farther.
I wake up in dread of leaving my bed.
Coming back to take a nap.
Before long it is dark, and I am blue.
While I fall asleep drooling nyquil.
I awake, and cry to be alive.
It's one and I can't live seven more hours.
When I got my sleep in the hospital,
Sipping on eight ounces of black syrup.
Needles puncture my hands.
I am ready to go away.
It's time again, Elliott Smith.
Not since the King's Crossing,
Not since I gave up.
Not since my death and my dress.
Sometimes getting better means being alone.
My hands are shaky.
I feel my throat throbbing.
And eat the dinner of my demise.
Oh god, it has been a long time since I have written in my journal, the last time would have to be the worst day of my life. And I will now make public that entry.
[Mon, Jan 1, 07|12:27p]
God, I am so depressed. I have felt awful since last night. I had plans, and they fell though in big ways. So I watched the ball drop with my mom and step-dad. It was one of the most depressing things I have ever seen. Then I made Jon come over here, and I decided to take a few shots before he came. I mean it didn't matter, we just watched family guy. And that's it. Just we didn't even sit together. He took the couch and I opted for the floor. He doesn't like me. He totally doesn't. God it's been like a year and a half. And he has no feelings for me. That is really making me depressed. I have such a headache. And I feel so depressed and emo. I don't know what- my mom just left for work- I think I am going to cry. I am so sad