On a blanket by the stairs, I'll tell you all my secrets, But I lie about my past. So send me off to bed forever more.

Fighting these broken emotions never works.

I can feel them coming up, tasting of vile and a horrible bitterness. Punishment on the morning after with no night before. I'm never quite sure if this rotten taste necessarily makes these thoughts incorrect. Disconnected or never really connected in the first place, a drifting feather, occasionally belonging to a draft of wind, until the world shifts and the feather is free to fall once more.
Succeeding at all the wrong things, I have to wonder if I'm ever going to decide what i want. I'll work till my insides bleed if i have a goal, but what i think i need can't be gotten in that way. Ha, think I need, as if any of my thoughts have ever been worth shit.
I've never been claustrophobic, almost the opposite, but now i constantly feel trapped, my chest pushed in by a world which seems unfair to all,an arrangement of bloodied shards of broken dreams. I've often thought about how things could be done right if everything could just be reset. A beautiful blank slate were everything can be built again as it should be.I think the idea that this will never happen crushes me more than anything.

also i should probably not stay up till 3 listening to Tom Waits when I'm in one of these moods, it probably encourages me.

I'm starting to think my poor attempts at humour is just my deflection of the issues.

despite the impression the above gives, I'm doing good, the smallest thing sets me off like this. It's a beatutifuly self destructive cascade.