The rush you once gave me has become a burning friction, and the years spent alone have turned my love into fiction, and nothing I ever do will mean a goddamned thing.”

You know, I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep waking up in physical pain, throwing up my future all over my bathroom floor, replacing my bath rugs on a weekly basis. It’s not fun, and it makes me feel nothing. I don’t want to be nothing, but what else is there? I have to ask, because writing about it, saying it, screaming it out loud in my car at 3AM doesn’t make any other feelings come out.

I must have been happy.

It’s impossible that I could have lived over 25 years if all I ever felt was this.

But what is that feeling? I’d settle for unchecked rage at the world at large, or an unbearable guilt for the dreams I’ve abandoned. I’d take a million tears, a million crushed hearts, a million more minutes of my fall from the top to this bottom. I’d take any feeling, anything to wake me up, to make me feel… I just want to feel something…

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