Why do I even bother? Why do I try to be so ******** nice to every damn person I meet even when they're a ******** b*****d? Why can't I see what I'm doing? Why can't I change?
No one even reads this damn thing anyway. I don't see why I ******** bother to write about my shitty-a** days when no one gives it a second glance. My fingers shake as I write this. Not with sadness, but with anger. I'm angry with myself, with my family, with my friends, with God, and with life itself. I mad that my hand stings with pain from when I smacked the granite in rage. I mad that my head pounds with frustation. I mad that my stomach has simply vanished as I feel nothing but anger. I mad that I make everyone around me that really matters, cry. I mad that my voice is hoarse from screeching. I'm mad that my heart is contracted so far that I feel as if it doesn't exist. I'm mad that I can't find the words.
I don't see how this can all be so difficult. I don't see why God puts me through this again and again. I don't see what stops me from truly expressing myself to my supposed friends. I don't see how they can be so oblivious. I don't see how I've managed to seem so fine even when I know I should be breaking.
I think I'm finally broken.
I bother because I care too much. I try to be nice, to make up for the people I've hurt. I can't see because I'm blinded by my own naivety. And it's not that I couldn't change. It's that I wasn't ready...
She fooled all of her friends into thinking she's so stong
But she still sleeps with her light on
 decz22 · Wed Aug 04, 2010 @ 01:42am · 2 Comments |
