just talk

splurge. "my egos like my stomach, it keeps shitting what I feed it"
you dont know hell. not like everyone does. your own personal hell-
lives in your gut, that you experience entirely alone.
Ill tell you a little about mine. my mind is on a one way track-
it repeats itself like a child that isnt being heard.
obsessive. compulsive. I feel hollow, living from one sad lonely pleasure to another.
there is no reasoning. it wants pleasure, all the time. and settles for small fixes.
DO SOMETHING TO MAKE ME FEEL OKAY.
GET HIGH. MAKE HIM LIKE YOU. BINGE. EAT. FUCK. THROW IT UP.
i am a prisoner to my disire, but there is no lust. no enjoyment.
just a pathetic pursuit to make one singular moment more barable.
Im not the person i pretend to be. and its evident when I lose my filter.
I resort to a nervous passive mess. my eyes cannot meet yours.
I wonder if you notice how fucking insecure I am.
If only I could see myself like they do. do they see???
do they know im begging for aproval every second in their company.
when im with someone I feel okay. everything I do is to just try to feel okay.
I dont want to be this way forever. I dont want to live like this.
but maybe theres beauty in hell. in fire. and pain. and self destruction.
its a twisted pleasure. its depression that loses luster. grey and murky, without love.
where is love? why am I always left out of the loop. and dont tell me its fucking normal to feel this way.
I dont want to be normal, in anyway. I like being my own entitee of chaos.
maybe thats why I refuse to change. to better myself.
subconsiously I am happy to sit in my misery.
my own filth feels good between the legs.
cleanliness is to mainstream for me.