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Journal: ...
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Mood: Exhausted

A new journal... I dont know. Nothing comes to my fingertips now. It isn't only this. The writing I used to do for pleasure no longer flows out of my fingertips.

Im tired. Im very tired. And I dont think I've anything more to say. No long scenario of symbols and analogies or adaptation of an emotional state. I cant seem to even be able to identify my current emotional state, which leads me to believe its absence is taking its place.

In the face of the inevitable, you see, one stops his feelings on their tracks, knowing that they will change nothing.

Many over something uncontrollable.. so many wishes to wake up, but in the end all one can do is bury his face in his hand and take a seat. Stripped of all hope, buried under... nothing. Rage, impotence, frustration, disappointment... theire all there. All inside, but nothing to come of them. So all one can do is sit, sigh, and whisper "Fuck it"

What do you know, I wrote.

Fuck it.





Fuck it all already.