deadpie
December 4th, 2011, 02:12 AM
Some twenty something female walked by the hallway in her scrubs and on the phone I heard her say, “She's just doing it for attention. If she really fucking hated her life, she'd take a fucking razor blade and slit down both her wrists and lock herself in a bathroom.”
A man in my art appreciation class mumbles about his daughter from time to time. Well, he has four kids and never wanted a single one of them. I listened to a conversation he had with this other girl about how her daughter told the councilor not to tell daddy about the cuts on her wrists because he'd get angry. He talked about how he's been taking anger management classes and wants to smash his daughters face in with a sledge hammer, because he thinks she's an attention whore.
I started to sink down in my chair while listening to him talk about this, rubbing the cuts on my chest, feeling so fucking pathetic, then wanting to do it some more.
Two months ago I took a test on Secular and Gregorian music, which I failed with a stunning fifty five. I remember pulling at my hair with one hand and dragging my pen in a circular form into a notebook until I had made an entire whole through it. When I got out of class I went to the gift shop to grab a soda and after buying it I drank the entire thing. I took the can with me to the bathroom, tore it up and started ripping my chest apart.
From that day on I knew I would never mistaken monophonic and polyphonic.
The mentality kicks in when you've been cutting for so long that because it's such a dumb way to get anger out that you must be a fucking idiot yourself. Being the fucking idiot you are you decide it's better to just keep doing it, because that's what you deserve for being so fucking stupid.
Another day passes and you're just as lonely as you were the day before. You start to realize that even though there's almost seven billion people in the world that nobody is ever going to want your fucking dick in their ass.
In desperate situations you start to figure out how to make something sharp out of anything. You're in class and you bite at the end of your pencil eraser to curve the metal in a certain way so it can penetrate harder.
There's a scent of pure shit in the air while the sun is shining and on a rainy day you can't think of anything other to do but smack your head into the wall until blood is dripping down your chin. All of the Kleenex’s are emptied in a trashcan from masturbating and you only watch the type of porn with amateur guys on Omegle that were video taped, because you think it makes the video seem more personal and realistic as if it's been made for you.
Every day you wake up and walk into your bedroom that's full of art that has never gone anywhere. You want it out, but it just won't fucking leave. After a while, the paintings themselves want out too. For instance, a month ago a painting fell down from the wall; funny, because it turns out to be the last important one I ever did.
This is what being pathetic is like. When you wake up, take a couple xanax bars, download four albums illegally and listen to them in nothing but tighty whities while laughing at stupid pictures of deformed junkie pirate faggots.
People have fucked you over, yes, which has gotten quite old I'm sure. Then you think you've really found that ONE person that means it all. They like the same stupid fucking avant garde jazz metal bullshit you do. You make stupid music with them, get a handjob, then get dumped for no reason and realize this was just another person that fucked you over.
This isn't going to be the last one and you sure as hell better prepare yourself more next time, because even though you thought you were prepared, you weren't.
It doesn't matter if you're afraid to sleep in your own bed, because it's the same bed that you were raped on. You can split your wrists, keep cutting at your stomach, even cry in front of them, they won't give a flying fuck. What they will do though, is buy two guns and kick the dog around. You can expect to see the parents you thought were once getting better slowly slip back down to nothing.
You bring the laptop with you when you take a shit, because you're trying to talk to a woman who's states away from you and you want to make sure every moment is savored, even though when you do see her, it only makes you just as depressed and realize how lonely of a bag of shit you are.
Watch language, people may find it offensive. -Mike/ImCoolBeans
A man in my art appreciation class mumbles about his daughter from time to time. Well, he has four kids and never wanted a single one of them. I listened to a conversation he had with this other girl about how her daughter told the councilor not to tell daddy about the cuts on her wrists because he'd get angry. He talked about how he's been taking anger management classes and wants to smash his daughters face in with a sledge hammer, because he thinks she's an attention whore.
I started to sink down in my chair while listening to him talk about this, rubbing the cuts on my chest, feeling so fucking pathetic, then wanting to do it some more.
Two months ago I took a test on Secular and Gregorian music, which I failed with a stunning fifty five. I remember pulling at my hair with one hand and dragging my pen in a circular form into a notebook until I had made an entire whole through it. When I got out of class I went to the gift shop to grab a soda and after buying it I drank the entire thing. I took the can with me to the bathroom, tore it up and started ripping my chest apart.
From that day on I knew I would never mistaken monophonic and polyphonic.
The mentality kicks in when you've been cutting for so long that because it's such a dumb way to get anger out that you must be a fucking idiot yourself. Being the fucking idiot you are you decide it's better to just keep doing it, because that's what you deserve for being so fucking stupid.
Another day passes and you're just as lonely as you were the day before. You start to realize that even though there's almost seven billion people in the world that nobody is ever going to want your fucking dick in their ass.
In desperate situations you start to figure out how to make something sharp out of anything. You're in class and you bite at the end of your pencil eraser to curve the metal in a certain way so it can penetrate harder.
There's a scent of pure shit in the air while the sun is shining and on a rainy day you can't think of anything other to do but smack your head into the wall until blood is dripping down your chin. All of the Kleenex’s are emptied in a trashcan from masturbating and you only watch the type of porn with amateur guys on Omegle that were video taped, because you think it makes the video seem more personal and realistic as if it's been made for you.
Every day you wake up and walk into your bedroom that's full of art that has never gone anywhere. You want it out, but it just won't fucking leave. After a while, the paintings themselves want out too. For instance, a month ago a painting fell down from the wall; funny, because it turns out to be the last important one I ever did.
This is what being pathetic is like. When you wake up, take a couple xanax bars, download four albums illegally and listen to them in nothing but tighty whities while laughing at stupid pictures of deformed junkie pirate faggots.
People have fucked you over, yes, which has gotten quite old I'm sure. Then you think you've really found that ONE person that means it all. They like the same stupid fucking avant garde jazz metal bullshit you do. You make stupid music with them, get a handjob, then get dumped for no reason and realize this was just another person that fucked you over.
This isn't going to be the last one and you sure as hell better prepare yourself more next time, because even though you thought you were prepared, you weren't.
It doesn't matter if you're afraid to sleep in your own bed, because it's the same bed that you were raped on. You can split your wrists, keep cutting at your stomach, even cry in front of them, they won't give a flying fuck. What they will do though, is buy two guns and kick the dog around. You can expect to see the parents you thought were once getting better slowly slip back down to nothing.
You bring the laptop with you when you take a shit, because you're trying to talk to a woman who's states away from you and you want to make sure every moment is savored, even though when you do see her, it only makes you just as depressed and realize how lonely of a bag of shit you are.
Watch language, people may find it offensive. -Mike/ImCoolBeans