what the hell am i suppose to do, i really wish i knew.

fuck believing the only thing you can count on is right in front of you, what is now, what you can see. nothing else. really.

insecurities can be the death of anyone, but what does it matter with so much bullshit you have to see through. unless you can read brial, youre fucked.

sometimes i cant talk for hours or others cant stop for days. but what can you do? either way there isnt anything else i am thinking about.

i cant get enough. ever ever

last i checked there wasnt much anyone was sure about. last time i ever checked thats for sure.

its time to follow through

fucking nightmares about lazor tag and twenty dollars and fights and love and stupid gold coins. then i wake up in your bed and you arent there. weirdiest feeling. my life is now dreams vs. reality, though ive heard dreams are some sort of subconsious reality. but thats just poppycock, right.

when was the last time you cleaned out your head? dust bunnies can grow in brains as well as they do under the bed. sweep out your subconsious.

stupid thoughts, stupid day, and that sick feeling in your stomach. someone needs turn the heat on outside.

overwelming. and stuff, you know.
ground control.