Good one.

00:00
Got proven right again. Looks like I'll be spending more time alone. Learnt hope should stay grounded.

00:58
Can't sleep. Realising I always blow my chances. Realising I don't need to feel good to be alive. That's a good thing.

---

13:00
I'm doing it again. Wish I knew how to talk to people.

13:43
Mind's a trap; just fell into it again. Going to let everyone have their way. It's easier.

15:03
I think I deserve a chance. Won't be given one. Just gotta' take it myself.

And the truth is,

I really don't know what "being okay" is, and I'm very tired of sticks and stones that I bring home myself. Well, I'm not sure whether or not I know, I guess it's difficult to say but it feels as if I have progressed to a point where everything is the same.
It's like, everyone and everything around me is so beautiful and that's the thing; it's the things around me. It's not the things I am, or the things I say or do; it's everybody else, and all I can do is sit back and speculate.
I'm just so tired of looking.

Have you ever felt that everything people say is a lie? And that the people that say they care really would choose themselves over you? Yeah, well, it's true.

The best thing in the world.

The greatest thing in life is the truth. It is one of the few things that never changes. It can be hidden, it can be twisted, it can be exaggerated, but it will still be there and it can always be found.

Kids don't wanna' know.

When we're kid, we ask things like 'where do I belong?' and 'where will I live when I grow up?' The answer is simple.
We will always belong and will always live in somebody else's shadow.

To someone.

There is no word or series of words that could possibly express how dissapointed I am right now. I figured you out, from the tips of your toes to what's in your head, I know your type and I know you could be better. Instead, you wallow in filth and it's upsetting to hear about all the things you once were. It's upsetting that you're doing to people what others apparently did to you. I never had a bad intention but you were simply made of them.

This is irrational.
I should hate you; I should want to see you beaten and bloody.
But I can't bring myself to feel anything more then empathy.
It fucking sucks.
You make me feel the worst I ever have in such a long time, and I can't even muster up the heart to wish something negative onto you.

Yeah, I'm the one who deserved to be hurt.

What I'm doing is...

Living away from my life.

I feel as if I am simply a spectator. I see everyone growing, moving forward; pictures of them laughing and with people I've never had the chance to know; people I have never and will never see. People hugging them, people I'm guessing they're 'with.' I see them with people who have probably forgotten me, but I'll never forget them.

I'm not moving, and if I am, it's nowhere near them.
I always seem to be pulling in the opposite direction, and I stretch so far that I can't get back to them even though every fibre of my body tells me I need to. Maybe it's that they don't want or need me back. Maybe my purpose in people's life is short lived; a cheap candle.

I feel obliged to care, but I can't expect that back. I feel as if I owe nothing to anything; to no country, to no place, to no religion. I feel as if I owe the rest of my life to the people I'm trying to move towards.
I want out.
I need out.
If I can't get out, I'll force this place to spit me out.

You can't find love in a bottle.

I haven't had time to think recently, let alone time to record anything heh. But the other day I wrote something, for no particular reason but I liked it, I guess. Rreally, there is no motive, no reason behind this so don't try reading into it. You won't find anything but a whim.

This probably isn't love', it's most likely just the worms in my blood churning up my heart for dinner; chewing out my stomach and letting my heart sink. It's probably just all the little people feeding off misery (for a good cause!). This probably isn't love, just all the cigarettes catching my words and stealing my breath. This probably isn't love, but it's close enough; the nicotine keeps me warm and the beer keeps me single.

I didn't stutter.