smacking against rock bottom. fallen headfirst down that rabbit whole out of fucking nowhere, eyes wide, limbs flailing.

"i'm losing sleep, i'm losing friends."

my only apology is that i have none to give. either way, the show must go on (and on and on and on and on and on and quitfuckingthisupnow).

marching to the beat of a funeral dirge.

but is it mine?

who the fuck knows. no one knows anything.

metastasizing, losing my place in the li(f)e i apparently lead, and watching it all spiral.

"houston, we have a problem."

fuck houston. ground control's got no control over anything, just like everyone else. still floundering through empty airspace, gone catatonically comatose. i'm always sour to the taste, bitter to the end, selfish to a fault. i'd love for you to hate my guts if they weren't already covered in ulcers that only a mother could love.

apologize?

are you even listening?

there's no more room for my skeleton(s). the one inside this horribly heavy, hindering body climbs out of its skin and walks the world, all by itself, light and free.

that sickening feeling when you're not yourself. i'm not myself. who is myself? myself is no one, that's who I am.

no one.