It's funny- I was just turning my backpack upside down for paper and found nearly none. Just a pile of notebooks filled and set aside, and what do I have to show for it? JACK SHIT. It's fucking pathetic at this point to still be chasing dreams.
All I do is write and I see no improvement.
I WISH I WAS DEAD, BUT THAT WOULD ONLY REMIND ME THAT I DON'T DESERVE AND WILL NEVER HAVE A PLACE AT FOREST LAWN!
I MAY BE DONE WITH THIS DIARY.
°Repitition of Hatred°Loveless Avenue°Burn Out (and) Fade Away °Plofile°Notes°Host°Archive°