Chathtiu

Tired. Really tired. Most people seem like they're dead. My eyes hurt. I could cry, but really, no one would care. Mostly pointless. I live.

It is weird, the sort of cold you can feel in the absence of others. Somewhat like cold sweat, but inside. I figure I am outside even the sphere of care allowed someone hated, or even disliked. It's not alright but what can one do in the end? All there is is deafening, screaming silence waiting for you to acknowledge it's presence for even yet another fleeting moment. And you have to. You really do.

maybe I could borrow a knife from the kitchen. a sharp, small one. I can't really deal with this again. I can wait. I can wait forever. I just wish I was dead.