i have no friends.
this is where the line ends,
simple and sublime tends.
don’t call me a wordsmith because all i do is glass-hop,
never ever been the kind of kid to hit the jackpot,
they call me the destination, i’m that ill
i tried to get my thrills, they fucked me like a failed elevit
did it for the hell of it, but the anguish inside kills me
so go ahead and kill me, how many shots does it take
to make my heart stop and my body start to shake
for a little while now somethings been amiss
all i do now is exist.
Anonymous asked: I would like to give you a hug, and then take you on adventure to sit by the water and look at the stars and just say thoughts out loud when they appear in our heads.
Anonymous asked: are you alright? i'm sure there are people who would listen to you?
i should be
honestly but dont worry about it, ill get through it
i wish there was someone i could talk to.
but i can’t.
and no one will listen.
so i won’t.
i used to have a life. now all i have is my bedroom.
and i’ve kept everything everyone’s ever done to me inside for the past 17 years. and now i want to shake it, but i can’t.
but don’t talk to me. cause i wouldn’t.
“I wish there was someone I could ask for advice. Someone who wouldn’t make me feel like a creep for spilling my guts and trying to explain all the insecurities that have plagued me for oh, about 25 years now. I wish someone could explain to me why exactly I have no desire to learn anymore. Why I used to have so much energy and the need to search for miles and weeks for anything new and different. Excitement. I was once a magnet for attracting new offbeat personalities who would introduce me to music and books of the obscure and I would soak it into my system like a rabid sex-crazed junkie hyperactive mentally retarded toddler who’s just had her first taste of sugar.”— Kurt Cobain, journals