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Description
I do try to not be depressed.
But I sometimes I can't help myself.
Like lying.
Nobody can help themselves.
Lies are the sickly sweet chocolates sitting in front of you, and you say it wasn't me.
I get tired when I write. Because I lose myself. Should I become a musician?
Also, I want to have sleeves.
Not the kind made up of fabrics, the kind that stay on you for
ever.
because that's what beautiful means.

Sweetie, i am no stranger
people leave
everyone
and my life is no different.

i'm just scared because i have this fantasy that i'll only live a little while longer, and if it ends up being true, then it would appear i'm useless to the world.
but i really don't care.
and i don't think i'll ever fall in love for
real
because it's too hard.
and i give up really easily.
i shut the chapter of a book when i'm halfway through because i always know exactly what's going to happen, and my love, i'm always right.
Love is too hard,
I don't want it.
I don't want to fall in love.
but something inside me curls and stares into nothing because
i really really
want somebody to love me
even if I can't comprehend the velocity
the terminology
the accuracy
the indoubtebly
astoundingly
erractically
painful
emotion. i want somebody to feel it for me. i want somebody to sobb into theirselves when they see me walking away. i want somebodies eyes to smoulder when they connect with mine. I want somebody to hold me in an embrace just a few seconds longer than normal, because they can't imagine what will happen if they let go. i want somebody to stare at the ceiling late into the night wondering if i'm thinking of them, dreaming of them, falling for them,
or just sleeping.
i want somebody to love me.
because no one ever has.
i want somebody to love me
because if i die
then maybe i'll feel like
i meant something
meant
anything.

Description
I do try to not be depressed.
But I sometimes I can't help myself.
Like lying.
Nobody can help themselves.
Lies are the sickly sweet chocolates sitting in front of you, and you say it wasn't me.
I get tired when I write. Because I lose myself. Should I become a musician?
Also, I want to have sleeves.
Not the kind made up of fabrics, the kind that stay on you for
ever.
because that's what beautiful means.

Sweetie, i am no stranger
people leave
everyone
and my life is no different.

i'm just scared because i have this fantasy that i'll only live a little while longer, and if it ends up being true, then it would appear i'm useless to the world.
but i really don't care.
and i don't think i'll ever fall in love for
real
because it's too hard.
and i give up really easily.
i shut the chapter of a book when i'm halfway through because i always know exactly what's going to happen, and my love, i'm always right.
Love is too hard,
I don't want it.
I don't want to fall in love.
but something inside me curls and stares into nothing because
i really really
want somebody to love me
even if I can't comprehend the velocity
the terminology
the accuracy
the indoubtebly
astoundingly
erractically
painful
emotion. i want somebody to feel it for me. i want somebody to sobb into theirselves when they see me walking away. i want somebodies eyes to smoulder when they connect with mine. I want somebody to hold me in an embrace just a few seconds longer than normal, because they can't imagine what will happen if they let go. i want somebody to stare at the ceiling late into the night wondering if i'm thinking of them, dreaming of them, falling for them,
or just sleeping.
i want somebody to love me.
because no one ever has.
i want somebody to love me
because if i die
then maybe i'll feel like
i meant something
meant
anything.