“Why stay sane in a sick world?”

I feel… grossed out with me; I feel… sickened by all the things I’ve done.

I feel… useless, not being able to fix it; 

I feel… helpless not knowing someone to share all of this with.

I’ll fail, I know I will… I just can’t make it. I’m not good enough, I was not born well enough… I can’t grow into being good enough.

I want to rest, rest, from all this nonsense, rest from words, and rest from thoughts. I want to rest from myself, from failure, from dreams, from pressure.

I lied… I am more active in the late afternoons than in the morning.

I wish I was high, so there could be an explanation for doing this, for writing this. But there’s not.

I’m alone in a small filthy room and I am too short to reach the doorknob and get out. I’ve been there for ages, forever. I learned things, but then I forget them, I know I’m short, I know I can’t reach it, I know it’s impossible for me, no one’s there to give me had… no one’s there to lift me, no one’s there to do it for me…. “Do it for me” I’m so weak

There’s not a single drop of hope; not a whisker of joy… just nothing, just me, there forever, trapped, confused, in the dark, I know the world outside, I understand it… but I can’t live in it.

I don’t get people.

It’s so ridiculous, it’s almost pathetically funny.

“Why stay sane in a sick world?” 

(15 days late)