Thirty Six

I'm just going to say it: I hate it here. I guess you can definitely say I've always hated living here for as long as I can remember. But with all the money, I guess it's safe to say that's one of the reasons I decided to stay.

I've met with questionable people who question me being the person that I am with nothing else in store except maybe carrying an inhaler that breathes back air into my lungs.

I have gone through the motions of declining everything so I can see the farthest lengths that extend beyond the horizon. I should've been more outward with my feelings if it weren't for the casual habit of keeping everything inside and pretend that they didn't exist in the first place.

I have the means to bury every part of me that feels swollen and misconstrued. The not understanding parts of me that look more wrecked that it is on the outside. I am nothing but a conplex prescription drug that induce the symptoms of psychosis and paranoia and confusion within a person.

Maybe this is the end I've been willing to give up for a long time. Maybe the unwillingness to change was indeed hindering myself to look for better opportunities. The change is something to look forward—although it is also something that can piss off a lot of people no matter how many times you tell them not to.