life fucking sucks and its empty and lonely. and im writing a book that will be terrible and juvenile that i probably will never finish but i need to make something worthwhile because right now there really is not much else. fucking christ. there is nothing. absolutely nothing. fucking just empty. just motherfucking empty. opiates and alcohol and anything else. there is no happiness that i can get without drugs. because that's who i am and there's no point in staying sober because it's just emptiness and more void. and feeling nothing is always the best, for the most part. it shouldn't be, but as far as i have been able to tell it is. it always is. it's like... just cut my ties to everything and everyone. it's the only way. yeah maybe (and this will sound fucking gay, yes gay, and entirely lame) but even if you can't picture me doing it i was fucking sobbing. fuck! it wasn't all suppose to be like this. i didnt plan for this at all. and everyone is like "oh yeah i've been there before. i know how it feels" but no, you fucking haven't. don't pretend you have, because you fucking haven't. now i don't even have any motivation to do anything. i don't want to work. i don't want to see anyone or do anything. i don't want school to start. i just want some good pills. they never let me down. people do all the time, all the fucking time. it's like this strange mixture of sadness and anger inside me. i want to disappear and i want to kill something or break something at the same time. fuck! im going down. im fucking going down. and lost. no maps. no guides. ohhh look at me, look at me. i fucking done with this shit too. what a fucking joke. ha, i remember seeing something spraypainted somewhere that said life is one big joke and death is the punchline. wonderful. there really isn't enough beauty. there's a lot, but i don't think there's enough. there's enough ugliness, though. could do with a little bit less of that.