I'm horrid.

Just spent about 15 minutes on Facebook.

Remembered why I never ever get on.

I don't care about what any of my *friends* are doing. People are pretty boring, generally.

That's awful. I don't enjoy being reminded that I'm an awful person.

So I avoid Facebook as a rule.

Had it up to the neck or so

The saddest thing about this is, I'm not even surprised. What I'm feeling right now isn't the sharp sting of sudden betrayal. I can't burst into a torrent of tears and then get over it, you know?

Because it's more like a dull, soggy ache. Like I was expecting it all along and hoping for better was a bit pointless after all, which is disappointing, yes, but not a shock to my system by any means.

It's exhausting.

So go to bed

I know I've said this before.

I'll probably say it again.

I'm tired.

I'd like to talk about envy. How it squishes you up in the stomach area, squeezes you tight with wishing for what they've got that you just . . . don't.

But I'm too tired for that right now.

I'd like to talk about fear. How it shrivels your wanting, twists warm hope into icy dread of what you'll never be brave enough to try.

But I'm too tired for that right now.

I'd like to talk about exhaustion. How it sucks up your strength, saps the last bits of joy from every waking moment.

But I'm too tired for that right now.

Much too tired for that.

Do you ever cry?

It's funny

-though funny may not be the word I want. But I can't find a better one right now, so-

how much difference a year can make,

and even funnier

-and I'm nearly certain that funnier doesn't fit here-

how very little difference a year does make, usually, where it counts.

It makes me laugh

-now I'm positive. Laughing is the opposite of what I'm doing-

when I think on it.

Better Than I Thought

(i beseech your pardon as I borrow one of my own phrases to start this off. *ahem*)

It's a quiet sort of emptiness

that echoes as a teardrop falls 

into the void.

It's a subtle ache behind your chest

where something flowered up and grew

in certain light.

It's not quite what you'd have tried to guess

when peeking out from self-made walls.

You're not destroyed.

It's good to know that after some rest

with time to think the ending through

You'll be alright.

Being Honest

You're just . . .

Gross.

I'm sorry, but there it is. I said it. You honestly repel me, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Though if we're being honest here, (and as previously stated, I am, at least; dunno about you) there's nothing I want to do about it. I shouldn't have to find you appealing. That's written nowhere in the cards or the rules or the stars or what have you.

What you have is nothing that is attractive to me in the slightest bit.

You're just . . .

You're gross.

And I guess I'm not that sorry.


Sorry.

Fuzzy around the edges isn't a metaphor

So very. Very. Very tired.

This never used to be a problem that I used to have. The tireds, I mean. If I wanted to stay up later, I'd just do it. It wasn't an issue.

Now I fall asleep very much against my will and at the most inopportune times and sometimes even in the most undesirable places. Just all the sleep all the time whenever I have time.

I don't much care for it, you know?