Sunday, May 8, 2011
Whenever I try to write out my feelings, they escape me. The harder I try to find them, the more they hide. So I try to force it, force them all out, JUST DO IT! like every fucking asshole I try to share my problems with tells me. And then, I hate it. I hate what I wrote, no matter how sincere it may have been when I wrote it. It's stupid, it's vapid, it's meaningless. It just mocks me, like a child whose parents insist that he didn't steal your apple, and you can see him standing behind them, eating your apple in tiny bites, with relish.