Dear diary,
dear self,
dear whoever-the-fuck-is listening.

I hear bells ring, I see the lights on Christmas trees. Most people don't spend Christmas alone. I told people I was sick, and lost my voice.
Its a good excuse not to eat, or speak, or do much of anything.

The sickening silence drives me crazy,
more-so than the happy carols all over the radio.
Give me a song with some electric guitar and passion,

fuck all this artificial shit people do and say,
to make them believe that Christmas is the best time of year.

People come around,
they knock on the door- so I pretend that I'm not home.
I'm never home,
I never was home to be truthful. I was ignored by you,
and now I will ignore you.

I don't want to be abandoned but fuck this drama,
and cheer, and people loving one another,
and fuck the pills, because they are there,
to sedate us and make us feel happy,
like there is nothing wrong in the world, but face the truth, everything about the world is wrong.
NOTHING IS FUCKING PERFECT.

I'll never be perfect, and you know why?
I have the right to think, and I fucking embrace it.
It makes me a criminal, and a deviant and it will probably kill me one day,
but I don't care,
because I won't take the sedatives,
I won't lose all the most beautiful thoughts I've ever had,
I don't want to forget people,
and wonder,
and I question if I am ready to feel human, because I lost that ability years ago,
to someone more wonderful, and I'm not sure who it was,
maybe it was someone I loved,
maybe it was a stranger passing by,
all I have to say is that life is fucking fleeting,
each second, each breathe, each person, each thought, and sight and feeling,
and I am wondering how much it will take to make you realize this,
to break through the walls of the world,

and to see that life is right fucking before you,
it isn't perfect, or pretty, permanent, or easy,
but it's the only thing you've got.