I'd Run Away, But It Always Seems The Same...
Currently sitting here, listening to Runaway Train by
Soul Asylum over and over and over again. Thinking,
wondering, deciding. Should be out looking for a job. Not
motivated enough. Thinking instead of my friends, my
family. Myself. The quickest, most convinent ways to cease
my existance. That's what it is. Not a life. I don't live.
I exist. This is exactly the way I wanted to never to be. I
have hit a very low point in my existance. I'm a goddamn
waste of time, space, and oxygen. That's all I am. I'm a
useless sculpture of flesh that my parents fashioned for
decoration, and now 18 years later all I do is collect dust
along with the ceramics. I have no use here. I have no
talents, no superior knowledge that could be used for
common good. I give nothing to society, nothing to anyone.
I'm the black sheep on both sides of my family. It wouldn't
be hard for my friends to replace me, if they even wanted
to bother. I have no reason at all to be here, and I hate
it here. I don't know why I am still here writing this. Why
am I even making an effort to beat this yet again? Why
don't I just be done with it? It's not that I'm afraid.
I've tried to die before. I guess I still need to convince
myself that it wouldn't cause my friends pain.
I don't know.
I tell myself no, but I want to be sure. I don't want to
hurt anyone, but I don't see why it would since they don't
need me anyway.
I hate being me. I hate how I am, and I hate this lowly
existance that is too pitiful to be called a life.
music: runaway train by soul asylum