Myself to think about.

What is this obsession I have with loneliness?

It's the only thing I seem to attract the most.

All the fake faces. Acquaintances. Friends. And with nothing to show or feel comfortable next to at the end of the day. Except the cold hard exterior of myself, with an internal void so deep ... a thought process so shallow ...

At the end of the day, with nothing or no one to turn to.

I must do this to myself. There is no other explanation.

And then I get labeled lucky. Do you see why I have a problem with that term? Luck?

The grass is always greener on the other side to you fucking sheeple. Always.

You are forced to label things, it's just how our petty minds work. Right? To make things convenient for ourselves, it's just another step we have to take. Absolutely have to.

Does it ever really occur to you, why things are how they are?

Do you ever try thinking about it? Or thinking at all, for that matter?

About what or how other people feel, maybe. What goes on in their mind?

Maybe, if you weren't so fucking busy crying over your own story.

Well, guess what. Everyone's got a story to tell, and I'm tired of lending my ears and shoulders.

Think of the mistakes of others as your own for a change, and you'll realize how fucking terrible you all really are.

As far as I'm concerned - you can go fuck yourself.

And THEN I'll be lucky. When I really, REALLY, have just myself to worry about.