so… seems my imagination is long dead

not that I ever noticed

or worried… then… or care… now…

What is there to be imaginative about anyway

everything from taking a breath to trying, trying, trying to sleep

… is constantly and withering me down to a failing sliver of self

but that's not even the problem

… it's not allowed to be the problem… no, no, no…

I am, quite literally, dead to the world

… and I so wish I could take that seriously

I'd laugh in my face if I could bare to see the fucking thing

I have this great urge to overuse words like loneliness and sadness

but I guess I can't do that…

I wanna be angry… be happy… cry and… laugh… but I can't…

… I don't remember how…

truth is… I punish myself cause I can't take attacking anyone else

truth is… I'll have to take it… it's bound to just get worse and worse

truth is… I wish I knew the truth… I can't even say hi without sounding like a liar

I'll always blame myself for any and everything going wrong

… I can't shake that

so… I fuck up… cause that's what I expect… that's what I do…

it makes me tremble

/