this is exactly how i feel a lot. i'm in love with this song (kevin devine-ballgame): and there's a clamp around my chest that tightens everytime i lapse into another sorry story... about my miserable collapse. a brown box i keep encased in glass and dust off whenever i want your pity. cause lately i've had to come to grips with scope and figure. how my problems stack up in a world two steps from ruin. or maybe it's rapture. well either way i realize that my shits about as small as it could be but that makes me feel worse for even feeling this bad in the first place.