this day, i'd rather be dead

so. realised my whole life's a lie

lonely, no real friends, lonely, no real friends, lonely no real friends lonely lonely lonely empty hollow no real friends

the lie i keep telling myself
lies within my certain belief

these days, alcohol is my most reliable source of happiness
and even that is a lie

everything and everyone just hate my guts for being so depressed

granted.

the only way i handle harsh criticism is by nodding in awe and reply with a sincere "yes.. yes, i know. i totally agree.. it's all i ever think about"

is it hard to hate yourself so intensely and passionately? yes. but you get used to it. the edges wear off and it has become my normal, basic setting.


this hell burns too slowly