What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
What if I fell to the floor
Couldn’t take all this anymore
What would you do?
I’m laughing at my own collapse. I happened to have lifted the sleeves to my jacket only to declare, “Oh look, I cut yesterday.” I was almost proud of the courage I had used to do it. He promptly smacked the back of my head, and I laughed again. He said, “It’s not funny. You’re going to kill yourself one of these days.” Laughter continued to ring from my lips, “I know! Isn’t it great?”
There’s nothing wrong with me. Really. My life is picture perfect! And don’t you dare use a sarcasm-detector on me.
I abhor being happy. I miss being my miserable self where I at least knew what I felt. Now it’s practically impossible to pinpoint the culprit. I also ahbor starting a lot of sentences with, “I,” but what can I do? Conceited is my middle name, but not really. You get me? Of course you don’t.
There’s a bright side to this suffering. Bipolar disorder is the genius man’s mental illness. I pray I’m bipolar. All my doubts would be answered like that -insert a finger snap- if I were.
They’re right this time. I won’t pretend to smile because inside I’m black and I am hollow.
Too bad I smile anyway.
In other news, I have one quiz and three tests this week, in addition to a debate in AP English. Am I excited? Not as much as I would have hoped. I’m losing sight of my goal; my goal has and always will be to succeed in life and live utterly alone. I can’t stand anyone loving me even though I crave it. Tell me you love me, but don’t mean it. Don’t make me meaningful. Apparently I have another middle name: unworthy.
I’m going to ruin someone’s life someday. I sense it. It’s that spidey-sense of mine. Word vomit, yo. Now I’m just rambling. Digression. It’s fun, you should try it some day.
My heart’s beating faster.
Now I fully understand her craving for attention. It’s suddenly hit me. Right in the face. Regression never felt so right. This feels so wrong. I am not profound.