How

How do you bring yourself to tell your friends you hate yourself, your life, that you want to quit? That you cannot realistically justify your existence? That you have never felt so alone and useless? How do you tell people you have been pretending for a very long time to be happy and the fun-loving person they used to know is a stranger even to yourself now.

It's so frustrating to want to say so much but not being able to voice the words that want to escape. I'm tired of people pretending to give a shit. I just want one person to genuinely care. I just want a sincere hug and for someone to see through my bs for once.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

How do I let go of something that never really existed? I don't even understand, from a logical viewpoint, why this hurts so much. All I know is I want the newborn I was promised in my arms, and that that's not going to happen. Goodbye, Bump.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

how has it been four years? I stood over the salt bag in the backroom of the Gainesville, Fl. cracker barrel in 2004, loading the water softener reservoir. My little radio tuned to NPR catching election results as the nation rolled listlessly into another 4 years of neo-con administration. No katrina, no wall street melt down, we couldn't beat bush because the democrat wasn't a pop star. And how could it be that it's been four years? Where have I been all that time? I run back through the circuitry, the neural pathways built over 1460 days and I find toil, anger, boredom, sex, rejection, fear, elation. Then I look at my hands, my face in the mirror and cannot see that I've earned or learned four years worth of anything. Now obama's the president-elect and I'm back home, fully 900 miles removed from the cracker barrel water softner where I stood tracking exit polls as I stared at the wall.

How long can I keep this up? How long can I last with this boy? How is it that I allow myself to do these things with him, without knowing age, without knowing a last name, without knowing his favorite color? How is it that I can abandon all my sense for... something that I know will only complicate things later? How is it that it matter? Why the fuck does it matter?