The night she said good day
None of it matters anymore. This guilt-ridden abusive nature of mine has had quite enough of its pride and stupidity. I would rather eat a rat's twat if it means staying on track on my primary objective. Every else just does not mend well according to plan of action. There were loads of moments and just minor repercussions but everything still fell apart. I guess I just am a fated juggalo wanting to be something I truly am not, and everything shows just because. There were times in between those moments where I felt the urge to compete against the tide and be a showcase of my own silly imagination, but even that had never quite been up to par. What the fuck have I been doing since then? What the fucking fuck went wrong? What the fucking fucking fuck is wrong with me? I just don't really know myself anymore, and sometimes I just don't care why. Maybe that's why.