What would I say about myself?

Words I would use to describe myself.

Bi-Polar. Cautious.
Wary. Overthinker.
Emotional. Pessimist.
Scared. Bright.
Unsure. Self-conscious.
Cocky. Strong.
Funny. Loner.
Sexual. Independent.
Kind. Expressive.
Lazy. Attention Whore.
Angry. Troubled.
Bitter. Eager.
Ambitious. Anxious.
Lonely.

And here we go again.

I'm twenty.

I turned twenty years old on January twenty-second at five AM. It's weird, I don't feel older or care too much at all.

From here on out all I have to look forward to is physical and mental disabilities and getting shitfaced drunk at the turn of every new year. Overall it was an ok birthday, although I have more unknown drunken injuries again. My Playstation got fucked somehow, someone poured water on it and the books surrounding it or something. I'm not really sure how it happened.

I got a sweater and some vitamins/ protein powder for my birthday this year. I'm not trying to pull a sympathy card, I'm stating facts. It's as if birthdays don't mean anything but added responsibilities and the need to act like you know what you're doing.

With hearts so heavy we could barely stand up..

Fuck this, fuck you, fuck everything.

To see her kiss anybody else is an insult.

To see his pathetic pictures, his ugly face, his fucked up and unwashed hair; it all makes me sick. I want to scream in his face, intimidate the fuck out of him and watch as he physically gives up to me and says he doesn't want to fight. Right when I have him broken down, that's when I'd do it. I'd knock every one of his fucking teeth out of his skull and laugh while I did, feeling the blood run between my knuckles.

I'd kick him while he was down, stab him in the back, throw sand in his eyes. I would do everything underhanded that I could think of just to humiliate him and feel no shame doing so. I would keep laughing as I watched him try and crawl for help, his tears and cries for help the sweetest and most addicting drug I've ever tasted. I'd come close to killing him I'm sure.

I want that power over another man. I want to know I've beaten him on every level and then walk away into the night knowing it, feeling it, living it. Because only that kind of power will ever satisfy me now knowing she's fucking him. And that I'm alone.

Every fucking couple on this planet should just keel over and die, their happiness thrown to the winds like ashes from the people of Pompeii. Dead and forever immortalized as living mummies, frozen in terror and death. Let their sorrow wash over me in waves of spite and hatred, I don't care. It's better then watching them live together. I can't stand it anymore, it's too much and I've been alone for too long.

I hope she reads this and covers his eyes, or even better shows him so he could laugh. He would reassure he could stop me, beat me up, take me out.

You can't. We've never met but I hate everything about you. For both of our sakes, I hope we never meet.

My bitterness keeps me warm at night.

This is how I should feel.

What I did an hour ago felt better and so much more part of how life should be lived then almost anything I've done in the last year.

I had an incredible workout, I feel great even now. All my muscles are tensed and worked, ready to spring. Everything in me feels like it's been revamped and reworked, I feel ready to do anything.

My head is on right. I'm confident, I feel like for the first time in awhile my mind matches how I want my body to look and how I want to be seen. Everything seems like a choice or a privelage, nothing will or could be taken for granted.

I could be the best student in all of my classes or I could fly to another city and start all over. I could go out and start the most meaningful relationship of my life or I could just fuck the shit out of the next whore I see. I could go to the gym again tommorow and repeat everything to the point of my body overloading and puking in the showers or I could never go again but still look as good as I feel right now.

Everything is a choice, it's all coming together right this second. I know I won't feel this again for awhile, so this is why I put it down. I want to remember this, I want to be able to remind myself I have a choice.

I think I might end up paying the fees for said gym and the personal trainer and get totally shredded. Or I might not.

My face is nuthin' but crooked lines...

Another Boring Story

These ashtrays are volcanoes now, apartments burn in red and brown. Salt the Earth and never grow, notice ashes look like snow.

Fallen and just sitting there, more trash then the County Fair. The smell of crowds, a burning nose, a smell familiarity morose.

Half-assed attempt only to fail; reflection ghostly pale.

You're waving while I disappear, ashes cementing my fear.

The Lawrence Arms, Another Boring Story.
Bar none, my favorite guitar solo in any song.

Gee Whiz,

Your phone doesn't need charging for days if nobody calls or texts you. Who knew?

I guess I'll stay another night.

And I won't be far. I'll be in my room, alone, waiting for a phone call from nobody or spam mail from another company.

I don't have anybody to talk to, I don't have anyone I want to talk to. I'm only looking forward to where my body is tired and forced to sleep.

I don't have enough money to go out and do the things I might like, I don't have any friends in this town.

I haven't made a single real connection. Everyone is so different, I don't want to adapt. I like the way I am for the most part.

I'm tired of sleeping with myself. I'm tired, all these drinks and drugs no longer help. I'm tired lying about not thinking of you.