Another tiring day of trying to shape yourself based on the philosophies of poison, critical thinking, literature, and money. I chew on this stuff til its mush and then swallow down self pity and hate. The alarm is sounding, someone else's heart is pounding, my ground is curved, is this table actually shaking? My teeth feel fragile and the weight of these books are too much for my bones. My eyes are wandering onto everything. There is interest and no motivation. Sweating cold sweats and panting moans of breaths. Are you sure this is what you want? Bloody nailbeds, smeared mascara, failed dreams and all. WHY DO WE LIE? Or why do I not trust the words that laugh in my mind?