Again, and again, and again, it seems.

I don't really feel like anything, at the moment. I want to write a post, but I don't feel like it.

I have got a lot of poems, which I want to post, yet I don't. There are a select few, very few, people who I want to read these poems, and no more. Yet, I can't just send the poems to them, or that would seem rather blatantly obvious, and pathetic. I hate pathetic, so much. How can you tell someone something, without actually telling them? *rolls eyes* It's rather impossible, especially if that someone is hardly willing to listen, or care.

I have a few poems, and I really feel the need to share them, even though no one cares, nor will read them anyway. Fuck. I'm rather hopeless. And earlier, just when I was thinking to myself, I'm not going to talk to him, I'm just going to tell him the truth, that "I don't feel great at all," just tell him to "Bugger off" and all that nonsense, and well, I didn't. No, I talked to him. I did, finally, though, simply tell him I didn't feel all that great, and that I would call it a night, but not soon enough. Fuck, I'm pathetic.

Next time we talk, I swear, I'll just say, "You don't actually read my poetry at all." Just say it, get it over with. But I can't, obviously. I'm too chickenshit.

"And I don't want a conversation
I just want to cry in front of you.
I don't want to talk about it."
Fall to Pieces - Avril Lavigne.

I told him, "You want to know how I'm feeling right now?" and posted the link to the damn song and he said, and I quote him exactly: "If you feel like an avril lavigne song, I think you should kill yourself. xDDD" Obviously, just another part of his cynical, sarcastic, rather more than sardonic "wit" but still, that hurt. Disregard. Complete and total disregard. I fucking hate him, I do. I don't. Fuck, I don't know. *narrows eyes at computer screen*

Please, suck me into the vortex when you're feeling depressed, but as soon as I show some goddamn human emotion, you go all fucking sarcastic and frustratingly carefree and thoughtless and just so goddamned unburdened. God. What am I doing? It isn't as though I was telling him I love him or anything, fuck. He probably thought so, too, you know that. I could just throttle the careless son of a bitch right now, strangle the sarcasm and cynicism right out of him. Wouldn't work, I grant you, but still. That would be ultimately very satisfying.

Part of the fucking lyrics, but not part of me. Namely "I don't want to fall to pieces/ I just want to sit and stare at you/.../I don't want to talk about/ Cause I'm in love with you" Psht. Fuck, this is so frustrating, infuriating. Why do I even let him get to me? It isn't as though any of this is supposed to mean anything. *rolls eyes, grits teeth* I'm just so, arrrrggh, pissed off.

Anyway.

Now what do I say? Now that I've basically attempted to purge my system of this highly irritating subject. I've nothing to discuss. Do I? *closes eyes*

My head aches, my neck is so sore, throbbing and all out of place, tense and not at all the way I feel like feeling. I would curse again, but I've probably done enough for the month. And yes, my fingers are itching to type my favorite word (at the moment) again and again and again. Maybe just a line or so.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! *growling in frustration, screeching like a goddamn pissed off fucking tiger* This is beyond my irritation. And the most agonizing part of it all, I have to stay silent because it's after 11 o'clock, and everyone's in bed. As I should be.

F U C K !

Perhaps I should start another post. I'm not going to accomplish any civilized conversation in this one, it seems. Maybe not even at all tonight. So, goodnight. I hope yours is better than mine.