i want to disappear

i want to not exist

sleepless nights spent pondering the meaning of my existence and wishing i could be someone else.

if i could paint a picture of my insides...

Rain pattering down a coffee shop window and ribbons of cigarette smoke curling and dancing along my vision. An untouched cup of coffee, a dusty bookshelf cut off by the edge of the canvas. But how does one illustrate longing with words alone? That tingling in your arms and legs. The emptiness in your chest. The howl you have to hold back, the haunting of something that could be, but never will, and living with that. It feels so damn lonely, to listen to the constant weeping of your own broken soul.

this is our life. until we draw our final breath.

I will guard you fiercely. I will cherish every moment with you. I will hang onto every word you speak and tremble under your fingertips. I will savor every kiss and breathe in your essence. I will smile at every memory.  I will long for you every minute you are away. I will seek you in times of tribulation, and I will cry for you when I can’t find you. You are everything I have ever needed, everything I have ever wanted, and my home.

death by overdose

sounds lovely write now.  i can just picture my fatality report.
Name: Annie Kittrell
DOB: 02/19/98
Time of Death: 11/29/12, 11:11 PM
Cause of Death: Suicide by Overdose

it's hard not to look at my fingers and not long to have yours laced between them.
it's hard not to tuck my hair behind my ears and not think of how you always try to and fail.
it's hard not to lay in bed and wish you were there with me.
it's hard to think about you and not be able to hear your voice.
it's hard not to miss you even though it's only been a day.
it's hard not to feel this way when you're 1,034 miles away.

i don't wanna feel like this again. i don't want another 862.6 dreadful units of measurement fucking things up again. i shouldn't be scared but i have a good feeling everything is gonna get messed up all over. and i can't do a single damn thing about it.

i love you..

growing up

-the realization that life isn't all about you.

i guess it takes a while. i mean, i always knew it wasn't about me. there's seven billion or some shit people in the world who all have different feelings and thoughts and dreams and they're not all gonna stop to serve me what i want. that's always been obvious to me. i'm not the most important thing. but it was always like my life was a movie, a movie in which i was the protagonist and those i despised were the antagonists, and i wanted to destroy them.

everyone i met, i wanted to play them into my game, to persuade them to my side, to hate my nemesis. i gave them a million reasons, from tangible gifts to just being a good friend. i lied, even cried. and it worked. it worked for so long and everyone loved me, called me an inspiration or some other bullshit. but it never meant anything to me. and i could never figure out why.

but now i think i know. because everything i did was crafted by my own hands, nothing they said made me feel like i had done anything right. because all i had done was manipulate them into saying what i thought to begin with. i painted myself as the protagonist and wrote other characters in to follow the plot that *i* wanted. i probably should have guessed that it wouldn't work.

sitting on the bus on the way home, when i wasn't sleeping, i realized it's not a movie. life isn't some stupid fucking fairytale, with princesses and dragons and knights in shining armor riding atop white stallions. there's no exposition, no rising action, no climax, no resolution. oh god, that's the absolute worst. no fucking resolution. it's a fucking rollercoaster and just when you think everything is gonna be okay something suddenly falls apart. your best friend leaves, your extracurriculars drive you insane, or depression threatens to drag you back down again, back into the deep dark hole you've been trying to evade for so long.

defeat is imminent and you can feel it. and you're scared. you're more scared than you've ever been. but what difference does it make if you fall? everyone will just walk past you. they'll kick you in the sides and dirt in your face. spit on you. and not even think twice about you. but what about the people who need you? what about the people who have depended on you so long and you've suddenly disappeared?

what are you supposed to do then?

i haven't posted

in so fucking long.

but you know when there's this sort of like, unspoken connection between two people, and there are no words for it? i'm not in love, i know that. but i feel really, really close to you. and it's probably the best thing i could have right about now.