Where's the line between reality and fantasy then? Already it blurs, already my imagination gets me into trouble that I can't get out of without pain and heartbreak. Already I retreat into a wonderful painless perfect world of my own creation whenever anything goes wrong. And it’s getting worse. The world I’m creating fits on all points with the one I inhabit in my waking dream more and more, and that’s the danger zone.
Let me go. The imagination is not a dog on a leash or a bird in a cage. This mess I have to accept as part of who I am. I am not changing it. Yes, stubborn I am. Yes, yes, yes, resistant to change, wise man. In this instance, though, I will fight you to the death to defend my right to insanity.
I hate how easy it is to lie to the people you say you love. I hate that I still can't tell what love is. I hate how I try to package and label all the things I feel. I hate how I know this is going to end. I hate that I know it will all be my fault. I hate how much I see and how little I use. I hate that I was happy this morning and I'm messed up again. I hate that I spend all this time thinking about it when there's absolutely nothing I'm gaining from it at all. I hate that I don't know whether I want to be right for the right reasons. I hate that I can't tell what's going on inside my own bloody head. I hate that everything about me is a lie. I hate that everything about me is an act. I hate how I can use words to make everything fine without solving any of my problems. I hate how easily I use the word addiction and still truly believe I mean it. I hate how I can no longer tell what I truly believe and what I've convinced myself I believe. I hate that nothing I convince myself about stays for more than a day. I hate how my dreams are no longer distinguishable from reality. I hate how I can't tell people what I want. I hate how I can't tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation. I hate that I don't know how to stop making excuses. I hate that so many words aren't defined. I hate that I can't tell what's true and what's not. I hate that I'm thinking that all of this is just me being poetic. I hate that I don't know whether I mean anything I'm writing now. I hate that I can convince myself of anything. I hate that I always fall for it. I hate that the simple things will make me happy but a boy can still turn everything on its head. I hate that I don't ever know how to make people go away when I don't like them but I always manage to get rid of the ones I'm afraid to need. I hate how I always want the most painless way out of everything. I hate that I'm not afraid of hard work, but I still cannot apply that to relationships with people. I hate that it takes me so long to think of anything. I hate being so wise in the head and so abysmally clueless everywhere else. I hate that I don't know how I feel about anyone. I hate that I keep thinking the only reason I can say I love them is because they love me. I hate that I know so much in theory and yet nothing in practice. I hate that I still love me. I hate that I can anticipate change and still never reconcile myself to it. I hate that I haven't figured out the world. I hate that that bothers me. I hate that I have no ambition. I hate how I can convince myself of something and then fall in the same traps every time. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that the ones who love me will always offer things I can't use to make me all I want to be. I hate that I can be content sometimes. I hate that I love to self-destruct. I hate that my instincts don't prevent me from doing the wrong things. I hate that right now I'm thinking that I can't ever avert any of the messes I see coming a mile away.
I hate that I decided words weren't enough and then went ahead and used them to fix myself for this moment anyway.
And because I must always end high and poignant and poetic. And because she always makes it better. And because she is right now.
My song.
I would rather a bad day that ends well than a great day that ends badly.
i wantahug.
gimme.
Let me go. The imagination is not a dog on a leash or a bird in a cage. This mess I have to accept as part of who I am. I am not changing it. Yes, stubborn I am. Yes, yes, yes, resistant to change, wise man. In this instance, though, I will fight you to the death to defend my right to insanity.
I hate how easy it is to lie to the people you say you love. I hate that I still can't tell what love is. I hate how I try to package and label all the things I feel. I hate how I know this is going to end. I hate that I know it will all be my fault. I hate how much I see and how little I use. I hate that I was happy this morning and I'm messed up again. I hate that I spend all this time thinking about it when there's absolutely nothing I'm gaining from it at all. I hate that I don't know whether I want to be right for the right reasons. I hate that I can't tell what's going on inside my own bloody head. I hate that everything about me is a lie. I hate that everything about me is an act. I hate how I can use words to make everything fine without solving any of my problems. I hate how easily I use the word addiction and still truly believe I mean it. I hate how I can no longer tell what I truly believe and what I've convinced myself I believe. I hate that nothing I convince myself about stays for more than a day. I hate how my dreams are no longer distinguishable from reality. I hate how I can't tell people what I want. I hate how I can't tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation. I hate that I don't know how to stop making excuses. I hate that so many words aren't defined. I hate that I can't tell what's true and what's not. I hate that I'm thinking that all of this is just me being poetic. I hate that I don't know whether I mean anything I'm writing now. I hate that I can convince myself of anything. I hate that I always fall for it. I hate that the simple things will make me happy but a boy can still turn everything on its head. I hate that I don't ever know how to make people go away when I don't like them but I always manage to get rid of the ones I'm afraid to need. I hate how I always want the most painless way out of everything. I hate that I'm not afraid of hard work, but I still cannot apply that to relationships with people. I hate that it takes me so long to think of anything. I hate being so wise in the head and so abysmally clueless everywhere else. I hate that I don't know how I feel about anyone. I hate that I keep thinking the only reason I can say I love them is because they love me. I hate that I know so much in theory and yet nothing in practice. I hate that I still love me. I hate that I can anticipate change and still never reconcile myself to it. I hate that I haven't figured out the world. I hate that that bothers me. I hate that I have no ambition. I hate how I can convince myself of something and then fall in the same traps every time. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that the ones who love me will always offer things I can't use to make me all I want to be. I hate that I can be content sometimes. I hate that I love to self-destruct. I hate that my instincts don't prevent me from doing the wrong things. I hate that right now I'm thinking that I can't ever avert any of the messes I see coming a mile away.
I hate that I decided words weren't enough and then went ahead and used them to fix myself for this moment anyway.
And because I must always end high and poignant and poetic. And because she always makes it better. And because she is right now.
My song.
I would rather a bad day that ends well than a great day that ends badly.
i wantahug.
gimme.
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