I don’t fit in. I am the ugliest of weeds among all the weeds themselves.

Things that don’t matter and things that do: I manage to mess them up just alike.

I thought this was over; that period in my life took place years ago.

I am not supposed to be the same anymore.

Yet here I am.

The same as I have always been.

Awkward and alone: Unfit and not pretty.

Even when things are supposed to be right they turn out wrong.

I am supposed to have it better, remember?

After all I did, all I have done I am supposed to happy now, isn’t that right?

But I’m not; not in the slightest…not even remotely.

The itch inside my veins is dying to reach the peek.

To burn through my skin and bleed, bleed, bleed.

I want to cut and bleed; to pick at my scabs and laugh.

I hate this, I hate this all.

I am so tired.

Pardon me while I go overdose.