the only thing there for you is the floor
A sober and well awake version of me just fell down the stairs. I crashed into the hardwood floors with a boom that should have awoken a slumbering Benny not two feet away, but he remained unmoved. I let out a muffled cry, and collapsed into the floorboards. I couldn't pick myself up, and I couldn't keep the tears from seeping into the wood. It wasn't that I was hurt, I have inflicted more pain than that upon myself. It just happened to be the jolt; the motion; the very bone-jerking action I needed to physically put myself in the same state as my mind. I guess I am a fucking liar. I'm not ok and I never was. There is something very specific that I want and need, and I am beginning to realize part of this whole "adult" thing is that I just don't get to have it. Maybe anyone that does is delusional. I am destined for dissappointment, because that's where my expectations take me. I want to scream, WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST COME THROUGH FOR ME?! WHY IS IT SO GODDAMN HARD TO TAKE A CHANCE ON ME, TO FEEL THAT I AM WORTH THE FEAR?! But it isn't you, and it isn't him, and it wasn't any of those in the past. It is a huge mess of nothingness that our generation is lost in. They never taught us how to do this shit, and we aren't selfless enough to figure it out for ourselves. People say to "find happiness in yourself". Fuck that. How do I know this star studded sky exists if I don't have you to understand with me the cosmic beauty of it all? Oh blah blah blah she's so emo and lonely... fuck you. Seriously. I can't change my passions any more than they can change their apathey. This is ridiculous. I realize now that the only thing truly there for me is that damn wood floor at the bottom of the stairs. Next time I wont bother getting up.