woke up with this crumbled piece of paper in my pocket.
That bird, or this, is singing specifically to me. I wonder if it's a sad song or a lullaby. These days I can't seem to do anything right, except listen to their melodies. How do you know you've hit rock bottom? Is there a chart or a scale? An empty bottle never holds any advice, but that doesn't stop me from asking. When is too much really too much? The idea of death feels romantic right now. Killing oneself seems dissapointing but ceasing to live sounds appealing -very. Whiskey never rejects me. Maybe I am afraid of failure. Excuse that last 'maybe'. Self loathing is thick, I feel desolated. In the past I thrived in misery, but she may have bested me this time. My sadness never turns to anger anymore, maybe that's the problem. Apathy holds weight but my awarnenss has me caring too much. What's the real reason for waking up? All my realitionships fade or never set. I am a lie. I'm running out of people to let down. I have no clue how to function in normal society, I'm just drifting. That's a difficult thought to process. I'm an idiot. I don't know what I should do.