the words feel like razor-edged emptiness as i force them through the cracks in my fingertips. there could never be enough letters and syllables to bleed this out of me, to purge me pure. instead, i hemorrhage mediocre poetry and vomit my broken illusions, pieces of me in the metaphorical toilet bowl, and somehow it's comforting, somehow it's consoling in just the smallest way when i pick at scabs and claw at scars, because maybe i could heal if i gave myself time, if i had any patience, but i don't, i don't.

all that i am is all that i can be. i learned this the hard way i suppose, because become perfect: it's been on my new year's resolutions too many times to count, and ever december 31st, i look in the mirror and realise that i'm still a lazy, unintelligent, bitchy, unfriendly, depressing, inadequate piece of shit-smeared cardboard. just like i was last year. and the year before. things don't get better, honestly, they don't. or not that i see, but i seem to be pretty much blind to the good anyway, and i don't really know anything, anyway. uneducated loser, me.

story of my life: the ugly ducking grew up to be an ugly duck. not that i'm grown up. i'm still an immature little brat, and i wish i had an abusive parent / sibling / 'friend' who would hit me and call me names and beat the crap out of me. that's what i want, in a twisted way, but i'm so twisted in general, it's not really so surprising. i want to be raped. i want to be mistreated and physically hurt and dehumanised, because that's how i already feel: sub-human. i feel like crying, but i have no tears. i feel like writing, but the words won't come, except to prove that i'm still a rotten angst-whore, as though i needed any more proof of that.

wake me up when the world is a different kind of place. wake me up when i'm a different kind of person. because i'm tired, so fucking tired of trying to have hope when it just keeps slipping away, tired of trying to keep my eyes open when they just keep falling shut, tired of making failed attempts to type up anything decent, tired of watching the sky crack to pieces when i reach for the sun. tired of trying to be someone i can never be. someone beautiful. someone talented, kind, quiet, funny, unique or anything that might lead me to believe that i'm anything better than what i already described myself as: a shit-smeared piece of cardboard. have a good life dear reader, because i have other plans.