This isn't a fucking joke.

As redundant as everything is, my point still remains unheard. And that's the thing. I'm running out of juice; I'm running on empty. What’s the point of expressing myself in such a luminescent manner, if everyone is too busy with their fingers up their assholes to care? Everyone is so quick to make assumptions. Everyone is so strung out, too busy being dicks, too busy sniffing said fingers to just fucking stop and pay attention. If everything is spelled out for you, then you don't learn anything. But who wants to learn anyway? You're all so smug. This identity crisis makes me cry every time. To look death in the eye. To lose faith in God, everyone else, even yourself. What hope is there? To look someone directly in the eye and scream at the top of your lungs how you feel and them still ignore you, or still not fucking get it. The hallucinations make everything worthwhile, but then again, everyone is so quick to judge. You want to know me? Read every entry I've ever typed, and it will reveal more to you about myself than a year of friendship ever could. No one wants to try that hard. No one wants to care or feel. You openly admit you know you're doing wrong, but you still do it. Everything I feel is on the tip of my fingertips. It’s collected in this nature, it's written by hand in the form of letter, after letter, only to be transformed into confetti. Nobody openly admits that they steal original thoughts. And all I ever do is repeat the same shit and try to figure out if I can make it sound prettier than the last time I said it. Speaking in metaphors. Everything is so enlightened, so surreal. Can't we all just trip in a pool and stare at the moon until we can’t feel our bodies? We shouldn't be this young and this unhappy. We still have decades and decades to go, and we've already seen too much. How can we get away? How can we erase the things we don't want to see anymore? The nightmares, the memories, the heartbreak, the young, childish mistakes we make. My heart can only bleed so much. I feel like a hundred years old. Life is fucking hard and as much as everyone knows that, they don't even realize the gravity of it. I've overcome adversity but at what cost? The lights can save you. The big city dreams. The feeling of speed and bliss at the same time. The numbness you get when your heart drops past your toes and into the ground. That cold chill you get when you notice that someone else has visible scars. The closet that once saved you that is now a dust filled rat trap. No one is going to go back to the places you've been and feel the things you've felt. No one is going cry your tears. You really are all alone in this world, and it’s up to you to accept it and overcome it. The tools you need are by your side. Everything is all jumbled up. Everyone tries to tell you what you feel. I know what I feel. What I feel is wrapped up in an old, yellow, frayed book that’s barely kept together by a paperclip. What I feel lies within that letter I left inside the theatre. What I feel is within the heart of the first boy I have ever loved… Its within the rain drops that I spun around in…on the grassy hill I rolled down…on the tree I wrote lyrics on. Its in every crevice of every inch, line, and nook of my bedding. My fears and horrors are placed at the front of my brain and the end of my heart. It’s everything. Take your time. Everything is just a big, big mess. And it’s always going to be that way. Life isn’t a joke, and death sure as fuck isn’t either. It’s a sticky, messy ride. And it’s different for everyone. I don’t have a point. I just have a lot of things to say.

It's funny that how for every ten hateful people, there's one nice person. I mean its ridiculous, but maybe if there were more nice people, you wouldn't be able to appreciate them. My scars are terrible marks. They're awful and not enough time has passed for me to understand how to deal with them and put a hold on my emotions. But I'm trying, okay? Don't call me a "wreck." Because all things considering, I think I'm doing just fine. It's funny that how a kiss can change your whole perspective. You're an idiot. You really, really are. And I don't even pity you at this point. You know what you're doing. You're too stupid to stop and think. You bring everyone in your own pattern of self destruction, then you play the victim. I am done. This is me washing my hands. They're too dirty, and smelly, and gross, and I am washing them. So please go away. And take all of you when you go.

Let's get started.

This isn't a game. It's not a battle of wits, or see who can go the longest under water. This is a pure, simple, and clean task. You can search for mention of your name, but it isn't all about you. It's about dreaming to afford a nice car. Or dreaming that one day you'll be rid of this place with your middle finger held out of the fucking window. It's wondering about insanities, orders, love, lust, beauty and everything in between. It's being hungry after you just ate the last bite of the food you spent your last cent on. Things aren't nice anymore. They're messy, confusing, and so fucking expensive. I will never forget the look on your face the last day I saw you. That tired, exhausted, cry for help plastered on your face like you haven't eaten or slept in days. I let you go yesterday. It was time for me to move on. It's only been eight months. But I decided I can't carry my scar forever. I can't show it off hoping someone asks about it so I can tell them the story they'd never expect to come out of my mouth. But I will keep the scar in a box and I will pull it out from time to time and tell myself what happened, just so I don't forget. I am so tired of this lackadaisical excuse you keep giving the world. This isn't the way you have always been. You were vibrant and healthy and caring but now you're lonely, tired, and mean. But I'm done with that. I'm done with people like you. People who excuse everything they do by simply saying that's just the way they are. WRONG. That's the way to chose to behave. If my taste buds can taste the spicy taste of salsa, the sweet taste of shaved ice, the salty taste of my lip on a blazing hot day, then I can get up out of my own misery and fucking enjoy it. So can you. All of you. You're not a welfare case, you're not "special," you're not smarter than everyone. You allude to this metaphorical pretense that gives you this false appearance then you behave normally on a public basis? Be independent. I am so annoyed with the leeches that are around here. I am going to do something I should have done a long fucking time ago. And If I can do it. SO CAN YOU.

If I could sleep forever....

I could forget about everything...

If something doesn't give, then I'm running away. From you, and your cold fingers. From this place, with these people. Everyone is too goddamn righteous to even TRY? What. The. Fuck. IS WRONG WITH EVERYBODY?! My head is about to explode. With anger, and hatred, and sorrow. And to get THAT coming from me? That's a dark place I'm in. I'm so sick of your apologies and your failed "attempts" at soothing things over. I'm sick of your fancy words and your "problems" that, for some reason, are always more important to me than my own. I want to drive my car into the ocean and drown along with all of the fishes and sea life that I find myself so intrigued with. I will die a red-headed mermaid in peaceful bliss and serenity. I want to strangle myself with the elegant scarf that Joe last touched. I want to peel off my skin with my fingernails just so i can tell anyone on the other side that i did it. I keep going around this game that you guys have a name for in the search for the same thing but i can't seem to find it, because I'm just going in circles. My breath keeps getting faster and faster as I seem to remember everything that was good at one point. Where is my dad? Where is Joe? Where am I? Have I gone insane? Does anybody even fucking care? I am going to leave here. somehow someway. I am going to escape this. It's too hard. It's too much. It's too personal. And I can't seem to be able to breathe anymore. Where is everybody? What has happened to us?

And for the record? You can shove your "I love you"'s up your ass. They obviously aren't true. Just another justification to make yourself feel better. You're not in a better place than I am. You're just in a different one.


One goddamn fucking day I will find myself in a beautiful place. But not until I get away from these assholes. So help me god, even if I have to DIE first, I WILL BE IN A BETTER PLACE.

Hey, Mama?

That's quite hilarious, all things considering. You can make silly justifications for everything you've done to yourself. You can use fancy words to make yourself feel right, but you know what? If this is the way you want to behave about things, you deserve to be let go. I don't need you in my life especially when you're un-supportive and you don't try. Funny. All you do is sit in your own safe little world all day and pretend to be a kid then call everyone else lazy. Want to know what its like not to be lazy? Its like going outside every single day with a new perspective on the world. And you can put the blame on everyone else just because it's simply that easy for you, but the fact of the matter is, if you don't like your life, then its your own fault. You can't blame it away. I enjoy my life and I'm cutting out everyone who thrives on making it a little less bearable for me. I don't need you, I don't need your pretense, I don't need your fancy language or lyrics that you only use to make things sound nice and clean. THINGS ARE NOT NICE OR CLEAN ANYMORE. We've all grown up. Maybe it's time you tried it too. And I am more than aware of my own mistakes in life, and I take full responsibility for them. I don't need you demeaning my person or trying to use what I have done to make yourself sound better. You're not better. Nobody is "better" than anyone else. We ALL have our plates full with a full belly. We don't need you to add seconds to our plate because you're full too. Just don't do that. Friends and family fight the hardest because they know that no matter what they say, they'll be back to normal afterwords. It gives them the subconscious relief of saying the worst things ever said to each other. And if you are not willing to fight a battle, then you're not willing to win. If you're not willing to fix things, then FUCK YOU. I said sorry. What's your excuse? Oh wait, never mind. I forgot. You're never wrong. Grow up. And take your false sense of security with you. We don't need another sob story. We're all full up here. You're no better than us, so quit acting like you are. And how about next time, you attempt to be an adult and speak to my face instead of some half-ass blog of which we all know who you're talking to. Anybody can write a blog about someone and make it seem like they're speaking generally. The reason we are not friends anymore is because you refuse to be. I hope you fall from your pedestal one day and realize exactly what you pushed away. At least now I've learned not to put faith in anybody. Even someone who makes it seem like you'll be friends no matter what. One day. I'll BE something. and That's more than enough for me. I said sorry. What did you do? This isn't worth my time. YOU can fix this, but I'm done trying. Friends don't do this. Obviously, we're not friends. And on your way out? Take the hurt you left with you.