Two feet tall in this forest of fucking problems. I'll probably give up a year from now. I am nothing when everything's more important to you. Don't leave me behind when you take out the trash. You'll get sick of me eventually, I'm like a goddamn cold you can't get over. Pass me by, I've found comfort in going nowhere. It's the only place that feels like home. Is this what recognition feels like? A compromising of intergrity or a life full of self-righteousness. So follow the rules: conform, compromise, and stay comfortable and you'll be fine. And remember, your opinion of yourself's only worth half as much as someone else's. I'm not waiting for life, waiting for life to catch up to me, because nothing's fucking coming. I've heard that life's too short to feel hate towards anyone, but I don't give a shit. I'll pull every fucking strand of hair out of my head, pound my fists against a wall, just to feel anything at all. Where's the fun in being numb? Where's my father when I need him to pull me up off the ground?
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