fuck this embarrassment of a site. fuck this pathetic shrine to myself. fuck this stupid little record of this shit fucking year. fuck this cozy little grave i've dug myself. fuck this autobiographical chopping block. fuck this worthless thing, this pointless thing. does nothing. fixes nothing. helps nothing. and fuck the moron that made it.
you know what this is? an expression of a half-life. a barely-existence, carved out of a partial personality and vague memories, an engine perpetually running on fumes, a quarter-human made of inertia. today i walked until my feet blistered and i kept walking until the blisters burst and i felt NOTHING. NOT A GOD DAMN THING.
i wish someone would talk to me so i could fucking scream at them. but the only people i ever talked to are ignoring me. saying, "we'll talk tomorrow," and i don't hear from them tomorrow. oh fucking well. why should i expect any different from these fucking people. i know i make it hard to love me. but having someone lie to my fucking face about giving a shit, lie to my face about making an effort. fuck you. i hate you.
i lack the ability to articulate how fed up i am with this stupid, embarrassing, worthless fucking life.
i don't have much left in me and i feel what's there igniting into bonfire, ready to just burn the whole place down. maybe i will. maybe i'll just burn the whole fucking thing down. not like you'll even see the smoke. so it doesn't matter. you're all strangers. just fuck off.