I sometimes so desperately want to evade humanity; escape from the clutches of such ruthless beings and their ministrations.
I don't want to hurt.
A double entendre. I don't want to be the victim as much as I don't want to be the perpetrator. Been feeling very stifled by the very idea of life itself. And the absurdity yet apparent realness of the fear that by the time I'm snuffing out the candles on my birthday cake I might be surrounded by only half the people I wanted to be present at the start of the year. I must be atrocious at maintaining friendships. I think about the number of people I used to bare my soul to who have become nothing but fuzzy faces in even hazier memories from a time so long ago. The thought then leads to the question: Was it me or was it you?
I feel like I harp on the same things all the time, and I liken myself to a ticking time bomb. When I go off I'm just going to wreck all the people I love with my insecurities and hypersensitivity and I guess that makes me volatile. And human. Human of the year.
I'll wrap up my bones
And leave them
Out of this home
Out on the road
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