d*land

Everyone's Nothing.

I'm sick of watching pixels fly by at no price. I'm tired of waiting.

I am not. I have always been, and will continue to be, not.

Not enough. I'm not enough. It's that simple. It is. It has been.

Consistent. At least this is consistent. At least I'm feeling a little bit, at least it's something.

I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to type about it. I want numb until it passes, until it goes away. Until I can safely say, Oh, yeah. I remember the time where I saw the same things happen over and over again. I remember the pattern, and the colors.

Take your fucking apathy back. Take your motionless inability back. Take your everything back, all of your words and paragraphs, your questions, take them back.

My questions have been answered. Your answers brought on everything I'm feeling now. Cut off, again. This time I mean it. This time I'm through. Very few choice words can make me take that back, very few. And they're the same words I said would open the door the last time this happened.

So, what I need from you is to continue to be the asshole you are, just upgrade it a little bit. You've already cheapened everything on this machine, you've whored it out and given it away. Your mark here leaves nothing but a bad taste in my mouth, and you think the phone is some kind of reward, you think that trip was some kind of exception, some golden prize.

It's left nothing but a want for something I'm never going to have, an empty time line, somedays followed by sometime. An expectation I cannot live up to, make you move through this screen, cans connected with string.

I'm thinking about taking some time off from this. I'll tell you when I do.

02.09.03 || 3:46 pm

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