Ha. Not talking to anyone, and you think you're going to be special enough that I somehow manage to talk to you? Not dealing with anything save survival, and you expect me to answer a prayer that died the moment it left your lips?

But that's all beside the point, a secondary issue.

Trust. Bah. Remind me someday that I write these entries and shouldn't just forget about them later. Remind me that it's all darkness, that the only light is coming from the train about to hit me. Remind me...

No, I do NOT want to live forever. Living this long is bad enough.

Depression, yeah. Disjointed because even here, I don't feel comfortable pouring myself out. Don't want to rock the f'ing boat, right?

Dreaming. Daydreams and nightmares and music as I try to cheer myself the hell UP, it's not working yet but hey, at least I'll be able to pretend it did, right? RIGHT?

*curls up*

Which illusion do you want me to give, lover? Which fragment of my soul will you show off to someone today? Which version of my heart are you proud of?

Why do I even ASK questions when I know that any answer is the wrong one and I won't like it? Masochistic, me, ya think? Just maybe.

...and it's go, boys, go...

Yeah, you pay with flesh and blood. And, in my case, apparently you pay with what faith you'd managed to scrape together. This is what a couple weeks of contentment does to me: it RUINS me. It leaves me trusting, believing in other people, forgetting that nothing, NOTHING, ever works the way it's supposed to.

"Red Right Hand" now, a trace of disgusted anger and endless frustration. Appropriate mood, even if the lyrics are somewhat off. Mood works, it's ALL mood music when I sink this far down, sober and hurting and hiding every scrap of it except here.

Pouring it here. Pain. Blood. Fear. Frustration. Loss. Disappointment. Anger. Lust. All of it here, ONLY here, and if you ask me I won't admit to any of it right now. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.

Or I will be.

Soon.

Gonna be fine.

Gonna put on that mask, dance and sing, put on the show that everyone wants, and forget that behind it there's a real person.

Seems easy enough, today. There's not much of that 'real person' that I want to expose to a world that just tried to kill it off again.