the end of the month sees no money, (say goodbye) packed plans and a yearning to be free. the promise of change seems almost futile now although everyone seems to be commenting on how full my life is.
this fake parade actually works, wow. everyday is a fucking challenge to try to be happy. or contented for that matter, but who gives a shit right. waking up grumpy and fuckedup is just another thing right. the world is sad anyway. right.
shai never fails to remind me about how well im doing, compared to him during whenever. and i prided myself in that. prided; used to. it's flimsy now, there's nothing much to be proud of soldier ken. march comes tomorow and i thought it would feel much better, but it gets worst.
i'd rather not be needed anymore, thanks.
you know where to reach me because i'll still be there. for you.
there is something in me that's very hard to please. it bubbles up and spills out sometimes. there is no cork to stuff it with, no cover or manholes that can suppress it. and when it refuses to leave, it crawls its way up slowly, gouging everything it comes in contact with.
this fear of failure is subduing my fear of success. which one is worst, i wonder (although i can surely tell). it's a shame i keep twisting my words, and not telling the truth. im a pathological in the fuckedup way that they are.
im looking for that something something better, but no one will tell me when it comes. it's broken. not that it was whole to start out with.