PTM was awfully painful.

I'm going to do work throughout the weekend, I swear upon my pathetic life as a wimp.

That's right. Deliver it to my heart. Wait, I'm coming undone.

If you don't get it, I'm listening to Korn.

How about not speaking like you are me? Are you wearing my shoes at all?

I'm fucked up. Maybe counselling would make it better.

Solution, just lose it.

Who to blame but yourself.

It's too late. There's no salvaging your soul.

How real do you think other people's intentions are? Why'd you always have to doubt my intentions and always prefer others over me?

Ugh. I disgust myself. Indignant piece of fuck.

I'm so 颓废 for reasons. I don't need you to tell me why. I know you mean well. But really, you don't have to repeat the obvious. I know what's going on. That's why it hurts so much I guess.

Fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake. Lonely like real.