I’M FURIOUS.

I hate it here. I really do. The government hates me. The world hates me. Everything is actively trying to kill me. My life is stagnant. My human rights are a legal/morality debate. There’s a lot of shit to do with money and there’s not enough of it. My childhood was taken from me because I had to become hyper-vigilant and aware at a very early age because bullies exist. I’m going terribly slowly with this life thing. I’m tired of how I’m used to disappointment and how somehow, the pain still feels fresh everytime. I’m tired of these stupid, empty, worthless, fleeting emotional connections I make with people over one-day long bonding sessions talking about stupid fucking shit. I’m tired of being ignored. I’m tired of endless pain. I’m tired of my parents. I’m tired of being the one that sticks out like a sore thumb. I’m tired of the pain & uncertainty that comes with existing. I’m tired of how nothing works. I’m tired of the violence. the system failure. the way the system is made to make you fail. I’m tired of the tired too. and I’m angry. and I have a love-hate relationship with anger. I’m tired of being constantly angry, because eventually, I’ll break. anger—you know how a potter puts the clay mould in an oven and has to bring it out to cool and solidify — constant anger is like leaving the mould in the oven. it’ll never form. and that’s how anger acts over a long period. doesn’t let you grow and move forward. it traps you in a vicious cycle. you keep expending yourself and your energy on the frustration and worthlessness of your efforts to make your existence worthwhile. and that makes me more angry. and so here I am, stuck in a cycle. I’ll never leave. and I’m tired of knowing this. of knowing. of living. of being aware. I’m tired. and I desperately want out. but the warden has swallowed the keys. so I sit here. and wait. and I write. and I cry. and I scream. and I try to exist. and I don’t think I care about anything except for a chance of being in a world, where people don’t have to tell me to watch my back. so I don’t watch my back. because I’m already dead. I’ve never lived, really. and I’m tired of being dead. I want to be alive. I want to be free to feel. to let my shoulders down and just breathe. but I’m long dead anyway. bones, drier than dry. I’m furious too. and that makes me really. fucking. tired.