A Collection of Spectacles


i can’t focus on anything. i can’t (ellipsis) do anything but talk about everything i can’t do. how am i going to free myself from this? i am going to go to college poor and leave poor and end up my whole life in debt because although i will make some money it will never be enough to appease the suffocating vacuum. why do we allow ourselves to live in such shit? i’ve been very pro-anarchism lately. never have i felt more like such a typical suburban teenage scumbag. where is happiness found? have i searched too many mouths? have i not tasted enough?  thankyou for telling me i’m not going to do anything special with my life.  i keep trying to find joy for myself by touching other people.the trees are fake and the people are fake and the numbers on the clock look unrecognizable………………….l.it .. one two three. feel better. better? who’s going to want me if i’m a mess? 

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no sleep tonight.

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sometimes i’m afraid that this is just a collection of statements, written on impulse.

that’s my half-assed attempt at an apology but it’s too vauge for anyone to understand.

maybe, i took things for granted. possibly, i tried to regect normalcy and opted, instead, for instability and erraticism.

what does it mean to take what was once held apart for so long and place it back together again?

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