The difference between what is and what it really feels like it should be…
… like life, I don't really want it… any of it…
I feel like I have nothing, I need nothing and I want nothing…

But I have so much more than I could ever use…
… in useless stuff… I have my coffeemaker… my toaster and my lighter…
I am a member of a huge family, filled with gracious people… loving people… great people…
… and yet I feel alone… like there is nothing but me and I can't stand me

I feel weak but I'm strong… small, but I take up a whole lot of space

I don't know why I'm here… in life… and here, on this sofa slash bed-thing…
… and I don't really care…

There's precise moments in life where you know exactly… plus whatever you'd want to complete that statement with…
… I've had one… it wasn't a happy one…

But I don't deserve pity… no, I've done nothing really wrong… c'ept wasting my own life… killing time and writing stuff I'm sure I shouldn't have written…

Thank god I'm not religious…
… I'd be damned by my own indifference…

I can't take life… I can't seem to accept that I am alive… I can't even accept that I'm not dead…

again I thank a god I'm pretty sure wouldn't give a damnedest… not even if he/she/it really existed… cause do you care about the emotional state of the single, solitary ant squished to a pancake-wannabe-shape beneath the sole of your shoe?

I'd like to… but truthfully, I really don't…

I wish I could say I won't write crap like this again… but I will… I will… whether I have anything to say or just the same unreadable bullshit…

… truly sorry

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