I hate that little bird

I am so tired of always being the one who gets her hopes up. I am so sick of that. That little bird that perches on the soul that Emily Dickinson wrote about? I want it to die. I can't help it, and I've been warned and burned too many times to count, but I wanted today SO BAD it hurts. I know it's ridiculous to expect things to always turn my way, and even more ridiculous to write about one bad day. But this has been a never ending stream of bad day vomit. And I wanted to see you so bad. So now I'm going to sit here, and it's gonna be all "hello darkness my old friend" again. I'm going to stew in depression for a bit, maybe I'll cry, then I'll start to seethe. I'll get pissed off at myself for being a whiny b***h, then I'll mellow out, dip down into the blue again and cry some more, and then shove allllll these huge emotions somewhere small. Like my toes, or to the point of a single strand of hair. Shove it down and put a wellcap over it. Eat some chocolate. Find something that makes me giggle, maybe genuinely smile one more time today. That's it. But it's still there, waiting for me to find a dream, or a goal. F**k you, hope. Go away.

Reviews

[Almost sane]

Nice references