the first empty page in here and already, I'm cutting myself off.
I dont think much about it while I write.
or this or that.
I hate, all the labels they have for it these days.
we only define, and label things so we can control them
and distroy them.
laying face up, wadding through this shit inside my bleachblonde,
dyed to match my eyes, head.
Reality can suck a big fat one.
I was much emptier, much better when I was high.
I dont even WANT to feel these things.
and then, go and ask me what I REALLY want, and I'll try to tell you that...
I want to be loved. I want to be thought of.
I want to be in the back of every god damn thought you EVER have.
I want that control.
and shure, we'll say I'm frustraighted because I'm still a kid
even though "apparently" the day I turned 18, I was expected to expect
nothing.
I try to tell myself a thousand times over that its because of how
I was raised. or how my parents "disslike" my lifestyle
though, they'll never admit it. because that would be going against
the image *perky giggle*
Or I'm shure, if you give me some time I'll find a billion other things
to blame this thick feeling on.
and truth be known, I'm just fucking young.
