(no subject)

[sixtydegrees]

there is nothing else to write these days. i have nothing else to say because everyone else has said it anyway. this is all my sloppy work and mind and uncollected things of nothing that all seem to add up into absolutely nothing, just like what i began with. i am not here to understand anything yet i am still trying so hard to know everything around me. the worst type of hell is the hell that is tied around my arms and legs like barbed wire. i am reaching like a constantly growing tree without any sunlight to guide it's way so i am warped and twisted into the ground and out to the east when i should be rising with the sun and setting with the night's sky.

i am full of fragments