| Current music: | Disturbed - Indestructable |
Singed.
My hand is burned. The metaphorical one. (The real one is just rough-skinned from washing so much.) I had it, the match, in my hand. Ready to fucking burn. And in lieu of some cool one-liner, all that came out was "Um..." and then I let it burn down, until it smoldered in my hand. Harming nothing, save my hand.
Today was a mixed bag. I think I'm gonna catch shit for having to get off work early today. Or, I don't think it, but I have this weird feeling like I might. Passive aggressive people...
Then I was drug around all over today. Tacked on as an afterthought. I suppose it's what I am. To pretty much everyone. Which is fine. It makes things easier, I guess. Not easier to deal with. But easier to do.
The decadence offends my senses. And I lose hope. This isn't the way it should be. Of course, it never would be, no matter how hard I tried to make it so.
If I were to have been born with ambition instead of apathy and aggression instead of depression--you'd all be fucked.
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