nothing is real

i’d go to the moon and back for anyone about anything, but i’m unworthy of a single thought or consideration. 

yeah, that seems to be the general rule of life. 

and i’ll admit that i’ve never been the best at communicating my needs or wants, which has contributed to part of the problem at times. 

but the thing is, if you have to ask someone to think of you, to consider you or to care about you on the most basic level, then is it actually genuine in the end? shouldn’t they want to to begin with?

this is what hurts me the most about the world.



Watching it all slip through my fingers

and helping the process along. 

Because it feels right.

It really does. 

Then silence…

And all is okay.
And all is fine.
And all has improved.

And it’s all just pretend?

The jump from there to here, now, is impossible. Yet here I am, which makes me wonder whether my current state is some sort of denial.

Recently there have been good changes in my life, but to me ‘good’ is fragile, and ‘good’ slips through my fingertips no matter what. It’s not something I’ve ever worked out how to hold onto, just like happiness.

It’s there and then it’s gone. There aren’t varying degrees of either. It just is or it’s not.

I’m walking a tightrope between two extremes.

And all is wobbly.
And all is fragile.
But all is good and I don’t want to rock it too much.

i exist, alone, within myself

i seriously cannot get out of myself

i purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

it’s the only way that comes even remotely close to existing outside of myself

“We keep coming back to this meaning that I lack.”

My body is shaking and my heart is going so fast that it feels like one continuous, violent beat.

If I could just turn down the volume, slow my thoughts, I wouldn’t be half as anxious as I feel right now.

But the what-if’s have made their way into the dimensions of my mind and they bounce from wall to wall in an attempt to find their way back out.

Bounce… Echo,
Bounce… Echo –
they don’t want to be there any more than I want them there. I can hear it in their scream.

And with each breath I breed another parasitic thought, living off whatever little self-esteem I’ve left.

It’s impossible to believe in yourself when you don’t believe in yourself. I see no in-between.

Surely I am, or I’m not.
And I’m not.
And I’m not.
And I’m not.

And it’s black or it’s white, or it’s black or it’s white, and that’s all that it can be.

You’ve got a right. You’re a human being.

For you, my friends:

What’s Wrong With The World, I

A female can’t walk down the street without at least one car load of males hanging out of the windows like dogs while driving past, yelling at her as a desperate bid for her attention.