Depressing drabble~
AN: My depressingly short 463 word drabble. I had time after failing my biology exam to write this (which, it turns out, I didn't fail! Yay). I couldn't leave the room until an hour and a half had gone by, so I grabbed an extra paper and this happened. Hurr, it's not really anyone but I kinda had Brendon and Ryan in mind, idk. Imagine it as who you will.
My issue is really, that I'm a quitter. You told me so once upon a time. It was cold, the end of autumn. I could smell snow in the air, and you just stared at piles of leaves covering the road.
You said that all I'm good at, all I've ever been good at, is not being good at anything.
I wonder if you knew that sometimes I work myself up to attempting a goal, to trying, but even then I quit before the end. I've got no follow through is all. I don't have the drive, the motivation, strength, endurance.
I just don't give a shit.
But you must have known that, I was always transparent to you. I was always easy to read.
Teenage apathy at its greatest. I am the epitome of pessimism, and cynical to boot.
On top of this, I'm lazy to a fault. I never clean up, wash my dishes, my clothes, myself. I don't bother to take care of myself; my body, my bills. My friends and my family have learned to expect less than nothing from me, they finally got sick of being disappointed so many times. Did you ever expect anything of me? Because I probably let you down too.
I'm a slob, a cheapskate, a deadbeat who wouldn't care if he didn't make it to see the next decade because even living is too much effort and tedium. I really can't be bothered.
I've already destroyed enough of my half-accomplished, half-assed dreams and ideals, why continue?
But again, I've got no follow through, so I'd never be able to go through with a suicide threat, if I could even be bothered to put an effort into making one. I doubt I could manage to be that selfish, it's far too much work.
Though sometimes, I wonder how it would feel to be dead. Like floating in space, maybe? Caught and suspended between worlds - which would have an amazing view to be sure. But maybe it would be like sleeping, like staying safe and warm in your dreams.
I remember that once, in a dream you told me all your secrets. You whispered warm and soft into the space between my shoulder and my ear, mumbled into my neck, and you told me I was beautiful.
Of course I never believed you when you said you loved me, you could have just asked to fuck me. To someone like you, someone so ethereal, how could I ever say no?
I knew all along what you wanted from me, but from the beginning it was always yours. All of me is yours to take, to hold, to break.
As long as you promise to take me to hell with you, because I could never go alone.
My issue is really, that I'm a quitter. You told me so once upon a time. It was cold, the end of autumn. I could smell snow in the air, and you just stared at piles of leaves covering the road.
You said that all I'm good at, all I've ever been good at, is not being good at anything.
I wonder if you knew that sometimes I work myself up to attempting a goal, to trying, but even then I quit before the end. I've got no follow through is all. I don't have the drive, the motivation, strength, endurance.
I just don't give a shit.
But you must have known that, I was always transparent to you. I was always easy to read.
Teenage apathy at its greatest. I am the epitome of pessimism, and cynical to boot.
On top of this, I'm lazy to a fault. I never clean up, wash my dishes, my clothes, myself. I don't bother to take care of myself; my body, my bills. My friends and my family have learned to expect less than nothing from me, they finally got sick of being disappointed so many times. Did you ever expect anything of me? Because I probably let you down too.
I'm a slob, a cheapskate, a deadbeat who wouldn't care if he didn't make it to see the next decade because even living is too much effort and tedium. I really can't be bothered.
I've already destroyed enough of my half-accomplished, half-assed dreams and ideals, why continue?
But again, I've got no follow through, so I'd never be able to go through with a suicide threat, if I could even be bothered to put an effort into making one. I doubt I could manage to be that selfish, it's far too much work.
Though sometimes, I wonder how it would feel to be dead. Like floating in space, maybe? Caught and suspended between worlds - which would have an amazing view to be sure. But maybe it would be like sleeping, like staying safe and warm in your dreams.
I remember that once, in a dream you told me all your secrets. You whispered warm and soft into the space between my shoulder and my ear, mumbled into my neck, and you told me I was beautiful.
Of course I never believed you when you said you loved me, you could have just asked to fuck me. To someone like you, someone so ethereal, how could I ever say no?
I knew all along what you wanted from me, but from the beginning it was always yours. All of me is yours to take, to hold, to break.
As long as you promise to take me to hell with you, because I could never go alone.