jumbled thoughts, not presenting a clear solution. accounts dwindling to nothing and bills unpaid. food anxiety ever-looming.
too much, just too much. ready to die, yet suffering in a life of sharp mental pain.
it all seems like so much work, trying to attention gain.
it seems like a broken record.
it seems like nothing has changed, that nothing will change... that i live in some twisted hell sadistically enjoyed by my darker brain.
it seems that i am forever alone, and never at home, that no one cares about Eeyore Bean.
i predict motivating speeches, and offers of assistance, and vast waves of ignoring strangers... and yet...
i write, not to seek a way out, but to lessen the pains. To hope that one day, my needs will be met and my wants will be none.
to be free from suffering. to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment