so this should be my first real entry in a while. im tired. real tired. of stuff. love. whatever it is. i thought i knew but i mean to accept the fact that im going to have to put things with cresten on the shelf with momentos and such.. it kills me. and in a way im relieved. and glad. but im so. fucking. hurt on the inside. ill never be over it. its the stuff you hear about in emo kid songs. "this must be it welcome to the new year the drinks were consumed the plants were destroyed and the hor'deurves dismantled i'm not smiling behind this fake veneer i am often interrupted or completely ignored but most of all i'm bored i'm trying to find out if my words have any meaning lackluster and full of contempts when it always ends the same why won't you listen to me why did i come oh why did i come here these humans all suck i'd rather be home feeling violent and lonely i'm not trying to sound so insincere but the postcard that's taped to the freezer reads "wish you were here" how i wish i could disappear i'm trying to find out if my words have any meaning lackluster and full of contempts and it always ends the same heads up damage control there's a ring around her finger last chance for changing lanes and you missed it by a mile why won't you listen to me this must be it welcome to the new year" i cant type anymore. it just hurts on the inside. re reading old entires. those should be locked away in the archives of pain.