born emo, diemo

instead of being able to fix it, i’m gonna keep looking at your blog, slightly tipsy, and wish i could make myself better for you 

i wish i didn’t have to,
i wish there was enough inside me to compensate 
i don’t know why that is
i guess i don’t know why that is 

whenever i seem to be alive, during any situation, i feel a small, anxious rumbling in the pit of me

it often feels like having a nervous cat inside of me, waiting, if not impatiently, to know when and where to spring

i find myself wanting to throw myself into many situations, but the indecisive feeling stops me from doing much at all.

when younger, the idea of being a novelist or a writer of any kind of craft felt particularly empowering to me, and i cannot quite remember the last time i felt like i had written anything of volume or weight at all.

i am confined by my condition, and my habit, which is bad self-management

i am unable to create, be or do. i am just unable. i put pen to paper and nothing good happens. i cannot make i cannot make i cannot make i am shit thank you 

words to describe myself:

overwhelemed

do you ever feel like days like these, on the roof of an age that should withstand more + an anti-climax of experience - surely i should have learned by now

this gate falls over
this gate is shallow
this door is closed
driving a concept through a door that has found itself sealed shut

i have to reconcile that i am lost without much hope for more
floundering is too simple a word to describe how lost i feel, and for how long it has gone on for

when u assume everyone’s just putting up with u and nice things they do for u is debt

validation would be nice