"written in pain" - Damn Desperate
My latest posts cost me a lot of work, I invested longer than I had ever spent on any other input and oddly do not seem much to his liking, judging by the number of comments. Now go through a lock. Simply I can not write, I can not structure my ideas. I can not find an appropriate title or a song to my entries. I do not know what style is the blog, and what are its parameters. I have accumulated ideas that do not fit together. I feel much pressure, I do not want to be repetitive, I will not post garbage. No one may be interested in my mental vomit.
I feel strange, with a bad feeling as if something was not right. The feeling with me every day and I feel uncomfortable. Even the alcohol soothes me. I feel my distant friends, I see conspiracy everywhere. Total paranoia. Write
... help me survive. And if I can not slowly poison me with my own ideas. I feel that I observed. Even I am afraid of you readers, their eyes scanning each letter. Just deleted a post I wrote drugged out of sheer embarrassment. What the fuck me? Will you have to do with my illness? I'm too self-conscious to act naturally.
I can not concentrate. The world seems blurred and I got faulty ideas. I'm bored, I feel trapped. I'm a fucking derelict. I can not sleep, I can not wake up. Maybe I'm missing the rest of the month. I'm exhausted. I'm drowning. This is my descent into Maelström .
I survive? "Aging pop up? Swallow
by Placebo
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