Once upon a time, I had so much energy deep inside that allowed me to draw without hesitation. I want that back...but i can't find it anymore. I just want to break all the tips off my pencils and rip the pages from my sketch books. I just want to sink into oblivion and never feel again.
I can't run. I can't hide. I'm surrounded by people that don't understand me. I don't even understand myself. It's maddening. Where do I go? What do I do?
I'm hungry and naked. I want to feed on your thoughts and wrap myself in your problems. I'd rather drown in your problems and know that I helped than drown in my own and die alone.
Do you ever wonder who will be at your funeral? Will anyone have anything good to say? Ever since I was a kid, it has been my goal to be remembered for something good.
My childhood was warped. While other kids were playing baseball, I sat in my room and wrote a will. I questioned the existence of God when I was 13. When I was 16, I carved the word "why" in my arm with a razor blade. At 17, I ran away from home after my step-dad beat me up. Until this year, I hadn't seen my biological father since 1988. I spent a few years doing every drug I could get my hands on.
Ugh. That's a little taste of why I'm 27 and feel too tired to keep fighting to survive.
Normal is surreal.
I can't run. I can't hide. I'm surrounded by people that don't understand me. I don't even understand myself. It's maddening. Where do I go? What do I do?
I'm hungry and naked. I want to feed on your thoughts and wrap myself in your problems. I'd rather drown in your problems and know that I helped than drown in my own and die alone.
Do you ever wonder who will be at your funeral? Will anyone have anything good to say? Ever since I was a kid, it has been my goal to be remembered for something good.
My childhood was warped. While other kids were playing baseball, I sat in my room and wrote a will. I questioned the existence of God when I was 13. When I was 16, I carved the word "why" in my arm with a razor blade. At 17, I ran away from home after my step-dad beat me up. Until this year, I hadn't seen my biological father since 1988. I spent a few years doing every drug I could get my hands on.
Ugh. That's a little taste of why I'm 27 and feel too tired to keep fighting to survive.
Normal is surreal.