Wish me happy birthday on July 2nd 1992. I finally turn 21.
I’m on the receiving end of my own disaster. I created this monster of a life. How can I bare to go through this moment thinking, possibly wondering, why it’s not working out for me.
I feel dreary.. Like every second I live through this I am pained by the existence of non existence.. The price of not having a price to pay.. The moments where I have no moments to experience. The near emptiness of my being.
I deceived myself into thinking he would stay with me. I believed they would make amends. Come back, be friends. A bullshit fantasy only I could concoct and convey so that love could.. Exist. In the form I wanted it to.
So I embark on this wild, fantastic journey. A horoscope once read is now playing itself into existence and I let it because I fucked up my reality. So why not give the ethereal universe a shot at it. Blinded by these make believe hopes and dreams..more often than I’m supposed to I believe only one thing these days..that being I’m a fool
Fools ignore the reality that ups and downs do exist and plagiarize life into a Disney story. I’m being patient and hoping for the best.
Wish me happy birthday on July 2nd 1992. I finally turn 21. I finally reached my end goal. And all other subsequent goals merely fell out of place.