For I have none,
Even so I keep writing,
I keep bleeding,
Until I am empty.
I'm... what am I? Sad. Empty. Hurting. La. It's alot of where I've been for the past few months. Why? What brings this on? Where did it come from.
Obviously, something in my life is wrong. Either there's something missing, or something that shouldn't be there. Or both.
What's missing is the knowledge of what I can do to end this.
Hey look, it's time for me to stop mentally editing myself before I type.
As of getting back, something feels off with Amanda. Honestly, all weekend, we barely saw each other. In fact, we spent more time with other people, which isn't bad per se, but it's just... odd, considering that we haven't seen each other in so long. It all feels really distant, and I'm not sure what to do about it.
It's not a problem of me going anywhere, because I'm not. This is not further reruns of previous years.
It's just... what?
The need for sleep doesn't exist. Sleep is just an escape from what we don't want to deal with. I've seen how one can go without sleep, I've done it.
Crippling bloody pain on the shoulder where the spear lances through and pins you to the wall of the old ways where you sit and rot like a bunny fed once and nailed in place so that in later years it can ramble off advice to an otherwise homocidal maniac (did I just read JTHM today?) and it's the hollow in you caused by the spear the empty the eating the soul wrenching death of me.
