So whenever exams come...

I get stuck in this rut. It's not a very nice rut to be in, but it's brown and deep and somewhere in the middle of a giant field. Some field with flowers and bunnies and little butterflies dancing in the wind, and I can see the little animals and the signs of life. It would be nice to pull my ass out of said shithole, but...

I won't be out of it until June 3rd, because that's when the wire gauze keeping me in rusts and falls apart, along with any kind of hope I ever had for the future. My future.

We all know I fall apart during exams. Last year was a testament to that. All the time, my life has revolved around work, and procrastinating at work. Whatever I do, the fact that I need to do something I hate has always lingered at the back of my head.

This is who I am, I want to do what I want, and I can't dig myself out of a shithole of shit cause I'm not strong enough to pull apart the chains. So yeah, I'll wait in my rut...

Only to fall into it again.

What kind of mother...

Jeopardizes her daughter's future over one childish choice?

I hate people like that. I hate people like you. Even if I've never met you, my friend deserves so much better than having to bear with you, you stupid bitch.

Dammit, I hope she walks away and never looks back.

tearing down my walls ;;

whispers, they spring from the blackness of the night to
devour all life, cheer, joyful thought, drag me
out of sugar and citrus fruits to a
lulling sense of hate. induce me into a
half-drunken stupor of selfishness, self-pity, selfish self-pity,
ill will and a strange urge to gnash my teeth into a pillow,
tear my hair out - spill my lungs out - bleed my throat dry of
words unspoken and feelings unthreaded into words

these thoughts don't mix with people, darling. they only scream when
i'm alone

there is a prize like a mirage, an image that seems to be within my
grasp, a snapshot of a future that i just can't see as real. and as the
days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into years, the
seconds melt into puddles of sludge. pull up your wellington boots,
it's time to go dancing in the rain, or is it not? prancing in a
thunderstorm will only get you struck by lightning, pelted by hailstones or
torn up by wind. besides, it's too late to go out now-
too late at night to knock on your neighbour's door
feel human skin brush against yours as you pull her in for a hug

take these pent-up thoughts of failure and
spit on them, someone

please, anyone ;;

[pull me into your arms]

and destroy these monsters

these welled-up pits of depression,thoughts of opression;
these nightmares that creep up, these
wolves made of wispy shadows, dreams that have been
held up on a pedestal then shattered like glass, these thoughts that
come to haunt me, gnaw at the edges of my being. these things that
never hang over my head, never stare me in the face

until the hour before the dawn

it's just one of those days

Where you feel like life has shat on you, stamped all over your bowels and drenched your head in piss. Grotesque imagery as this may be, that's how you're feeling now- it's not that anything has gone wrong, it's not that there's been anything different about this day except the usual drone of normalcy. Yet at the end of it all something or maybe someone sparked a strange kind of fury within you, a negative mass of emotion that has welled up inside and is bursting to come out.

It's not like you can ask him, ask her, ask you? These feelings are spilling out like tomato sauce on fries, gushing from your heart like a woven string of lies. You want to give out your soul but you're afraid that it'll be hurt, you want to share your feelings but you're so scared of rejection, of hate, scared of fear itself that you're holding yourself back. You aren't the best of people... You aren't pretty aren't talented aren't awesome aren't bright, you aren't anything that you wish you could be even if people keep telling you that you are.

And yet you know that this is only temporary, that when you wake up the next morning it'll be all sunshine and butterflies and smiles again. You're not a depressing person but sometimes you feel that way, you feel guilty for being that way because there are people whose lives are worse than yours who face every day with a laugh. Which is what you do when you don't think too much... So why are you being such a whiny brat? Why can't you just accept what you have and run with the flow? Why do you hesitate, hold everything back?

... Why?

There are ways to make a rant sound poetic

And this is not one of them.

I have an essay due tomorrow, laundry that needs to be done, a headache, a stomachache, and diarrhea. To top it all off I would really like to throw a shoe at an idiot's head.

Oh GOD how difficult is it to suck it up and ask for an extension? I... Don't want to do it. I've never had to ask for an extension on an essay before. Not in school, not in university... Pride is a very powerful thing, and while I don't have much of it I have a certain image of myself that I have to hold true, even if it's to only me.

Must do it. Even if it means staying up till five. Must. Must. Must.