(no subject)
i feel as if i'm reverting.
as if the only solution is a purging like no other.
an individual genocide of everything within me.
murder to ideal.
birth to truth.
metamorphasis to inebriation.
goodbye?. i don't know.
wait. i could be on my way. keep going, but detach.
selfish help is not help.
i can't do this.
my goal: ... dispersing the only good in me
and... you're not in it.
unintentially.
i'm sorry i couldn't be better at this.
this doesn't fit.
i don't belong.
i'm much too socially, physically, psychologically ... awkward.
i need to get out of here. i'm suffocating in domesticality. this life is nothing but wonderous and awe-inspiring, and yet i spend it trapped in the drab routine.
i want to see it
in the eyes of the hopeless
in the empty hands of the lonely
in the broken back of the tired
in the mind of the weary
in the tears of the heartbroken
and i want to help give you hope, a friend, a smile, a happy thought, and love.
i want to give you my life.
i can't think of anything better to do with it than befriend you.
whoever you are, all of you.
i wish i had more of the courage to love.
and to be loved.