a place to put words

FOUR MORE FUCKING DAYS. GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE I WANT TO LEEEEEEAAAAAAAAVEEEEEEEEEEEE. MY HEAD HURTS AND I DONT WANT TO THINK ANYMORE. FUCK. WHY CANT THIS ALL BE SIMPLE. 4 more days. time moves so slow i can grasp it in my hands. i have lived 4 days of my life already, i can do 4 more these are the words i wanted to say, why cant i be satisfied with just that?

every fiber of my being wants to feel tender. to cry. to exist in a state eternally wounded and heal at its own time. but i can't. i have to pump myself up and go forth into the day. i can't feel how i want to feel, i have to feel how i have to feel. if that makes any sense

someone told me to write down "you are __" every time you are scared. i think i may start. Update: im starting to become the type of person that i look up to. and so the summer ends with no new answers, just a new perspective on the same old questions. time marches on, and i dance to its beat.

fuck you, we owe each other everything

you know that feeling when you eat terrible artificial food and your stomach hurts? that feeling of fake fullness and frustration that nothign can be done but sit and wallow in it? thats how i fell. emotionally.

at the top of the tree of life there is not love, there is f.o.m.o

every day i grow more hair. this frustrates me, as i never see it gradually. it just... happens. life just.... happens. and i shave it and it comes back. and life goes on and it grows back. objects have a life of their own in a sense. each follicle of hair existing in ways that i can never comprehend, always of out my grasp. existence is futile in that sense, yet still so beautiful. an existential object that gains meaning to me through its difference from what i would like it to be, yet possess inherent qualities beyond human comprehension. cruel, but intriguing. beautiful, but scary.

this world wasn't made for us

i dont even recognize my own face anymore. and i dont think thats a bad thing.