I feel like I'm about to faint.
This heat is overwhelming, and any attempt at thought just seems to die in birth.
I'm not trying too hard, for fear that the monster may emerge to gnaw my brain for its impudence. "Do not defy me! Obey! I shall sink my teeth into your grey matter and laugh when you writhe!"
There seems to be an oppressive heat on the inside of my skull, festering and boiling until I wish my brain would turn to cold, wet clay. That would be pleasant.

It's supposed to rain today. I really would like a thunderstorm, the heat is too much for me. I would also like to spend today being sick and angry, listening to cello music. I feel a bout of depression coming on, but not the bad kind, just the kind where I'm a little melancholy.
People are irritating me more than usual, especially the ones who are falsely nice, or the ones who want something from me. The one I've mentioned who keeps hitting on me, and doesn't even know me as a person. I'm just a little bit digusted. I think that I despise her.
I hate people who want to be your friend just because you're pretty or have something they want. Can't you like someone for who they are? For something that matters?
I'm listening to Love Will Tear Us Apart and feeling sick. Well, Bowie will cheer me up, but the feeling doesn't quite go away.
I don't like this! I don't want to feel so uncertain. Nor do I like reverting to teen-angst mode like this! Why can't I have something solid?
Humans have a naturally feral nature, but somewhere along the way we became social creatures. Who is to say that I have to succumb to habit and deal with them?
Who is to say that I must be a part of what they stand for?

I feel this helpless throbbing, a panic spiraling down my spine, taking my breath with it.
Spiraling down into the dark water like my dreams. I look up and see someone who couldn't have helped me.

The Rasmus: F-F-Falling

Random people are trying to rap beside me. This is a strange occurrence. RAP IS NOT FUN. Not fun for me. I will hit you with a fish if you rap. Stop it, you dumbass. Now I break out the ninja skillz. So talking to myself isn’t the best way to convince anyone that I am sane. I should have known better. You know how it feels when some dumbass beside you keeps biting your elbow? It hurts. Of course you don't know how it feels. I should bite your elbow.

"Sorry, sorry I cant seem to control myself my unckel died, i have a fuzzy croch and i am just a lil you know drunk so sorry to any one i have harmed r hurt physicaly(sp) so umm, thank you cleavleand good night"

Okay, so that's the best I'm going to get. You know, you're an irritating little emo, but I still like you. You ass.

"thats funny, but ua, im still intrested in seeing your undergarmens..."

Would you be happy if I told you that Winnie the Pooh is on my underwear?

"i could be happyer"

Well, I'm not telling you what they really look like, and you're not going to see them. No, sorry, well actually I'm not sorry, but still no. You can bite my pale ass.

Hah, I won rock-paper-scissors and you can't see my motherfuckin underwear. You ass.
And so ends another episode of wasting time with Ryan.

The Cure-Love Song

This used to be my song for J. That and Pictures of You. In fact, the entirety of Disintegration seemed to be about us. Now, it just serves as a reminder of the things I never had. Wanted, tried so hard to get, but never had.
I’ve almost done it. I’m almost to the point where I feel nothing at all. I really believed that this is what I wanted. Where I once stayed awake, alert, in agony, I now glance dispassionately and feel nothing. Where once there was a voice of reason, one to keep me living and sane, there is only silence. I can actually hear the echoes of myself in there.
A great part of the fear has left me. I don’t see this as much of a good thing. I need some kind of constant reminder, knowledge of an impending end to keep me alive. Everything I see means nothing, my friends are distant, and screaming makes no sound. I see D., not three feet from me, but looking at her, there could be a million miles and oceans between us.
I had a strange dream. I wasn’t human; I was just a very sophisticated replica. Who knows what it means when a simulation is more believable than the real thing? Someone called me cruel, an asshole, and I told them that they were only jealous because I was a better model of one.
I’d like to feel something petty, something lighter.

I don’t know what to do with M. I am not enough. I may look like a person, but I am not. She does not see that this is a simulation, more real than life. She holds his grip on me, so mundane and ruthless it kills me. I don’t like this feeling.
It doesn’t matter what’s inside, as long as no one ever sees it. My performance has been perfected; they think me capable of things that I never knew or understood. What I have become is a cancer inside a gleaming shell, rotting from the inside, numbing the nerves and eating everything. Nobody can smell the foul odor, it just decays without notice.

How I feel…is like living at the bottom of the ocean. Breath is stifled, an immense pressure crushes down. Words never survive the journey upwards. Bubbles break the surface, are seen for their presence, but the significance is never noted. This is true, for have you not seen people on the ocean? They see bubbles and assume it must be some creature that dwells there and is adapted to life underwater. They never think that someone could be drowning just out of sight.

You know what?

I'm not happy.

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