6pm
i know that something's wrong when i'm worn out by 6-o-clock just wasting time. what do i care? there will always be tomorrow but if there's not, will i care? or will i hate every moment of my wasted life? retracing bad jokes and boredom, take ruined events and burn them, false relationships and misery. what's left is me. "we're all alone" - i've learned that. there's nothing i hate more than being this confused. there's nothing i hate more than not knowing what's wrong. the clouds are gray and weeping on the trees and their mood is wearing off onto me. i better get ready for the storm they say it's going to be a cold dark winter and i've got no heat. crumpled paper and a pen in hand. i'm just trying to create some art that i can stand. i hate that i'm still tired, 16 years has been too long, but at least i've gotten a few songs. and if i died, no one's life would be over except for mine. 'cause it's hard to accept that i'm not needed. it's even harder not having a best friend. 'cause these others, they don't count. they just stick around because i asked them to and they don't want to be rude.