Remember that night?

Sit, stand, what do I fucking care?

Have your drink, aren't you big and clever and grown up? Look at you, just like every other, swaying around completely headless, legless, fucking witless, join the crowd

Join the party

Sit down, I want to sit down let me fucking sit down
No, don't talk to me, you fucking cretin, I don't know you nor do I want to, you were moronic when you were sobre, why would I want to talk to you now?

Shit, who gives a fuck about responsibility? He does, does he? Meh, boring.

Wish I could talk to you, explain, maybe just tell you how I feel but I know the consequences, I know what would happen

Fuck this dichotomy; why is it that even though I try and avoid it, I always end up getting hurt by myself

Shat on by the world

I love you and I hate you and I wish, I wish I wish I wish I could explain all this to you but I can't even explain it to myself, so what fucking chance do I have?

Worthless, pointless, meaningless; Nietzsche had something going; but what does it matter when you're never going to get your point across anyway?

May as well stand up, give up, go home, throw up.

Throw up; now there's a good idea. Don't you feel clever now?


And all the while I'm missing out, avoiding the fuss, avoiding the life, the soul. If this is life and soul you can fucking well keep it, thankyou very much. I think I'll just sit here, with my coffee.


You like her too? Well, good luck mate; but you can fucking well have her, there's no room for me. Never had a chance; the glorious self-denial that accompanies infatuation is beginning to wear off and I can see just how delusionary I was to even hold for an instant the belief that I could make something of it.
Look at me; look at what I am, what I have. I have nothing, am nothing- not even a has-been, couldn't even get that far. Pathetic, that's what this is; and all the while your thoughts are churning churning churning and no sense can come.

No sense, no sense at all; of course not, you didn't expect to be able to make sense, did you?

And then it's over, people crying people laughing and oh look, it's the fucking cretins again, look at them go by, go by and die why don't you. I think I'll leave I think I'll stay I don't know what the fuck I'm doing so I'll follow you.

Oh look at you in the front; pretending that you never knew me and I know, I know now that imperceptibly something has changed and that maybe that invitation at the start will never be honoured, that our jokes and laughter and (could it be?) flirting is over and gone and will be restricted to the dusty reaches of memory for me to bring out on rainy days and wonder what the fuck happened.

Because something must have happened and I just fucking wish I knew what, but no-tells me, no-one ever fucking tells me anything and I just wish that I could get away from all of this, run away with you somewhere and make everything allright but I can't because of my fucking years and obligations and 'Oh, isn't that nice' demanour that holds no opinions, holds nothing of interest or worth.

I'm an empty shell, something to impose upon, and maybe that's what offered you the initial attraction but now the novelty has worn off and you guess, you don't know but you guess that I like you and so you discard me because you think I'm like all the others but I'm not, I'm fucking not, and you'll never know until one day when I'm somewhere and you're there with your drink and I can just smile because I know I saved myself and you didn't, you allowed yourself to get dragged down.

Call it boring, I call it freewill, and I'm more intelligent than you'll ever be so I couldn't fucking give a damn. Chances that you'll read this? None, but what does it matter. I doubt that anyone else reading this will ever know what it's about- consider it an interpretation of events, consider it a musing on what has been and what MIGHT be; oh of course, let's view in terms of Copenhagen theory and I know that in one universe I will ask the question that I cannot bring myself to here and then in another universe you will say no and in yet another you will say yes.

Oh, fuck, I know what Universe I wish I lived in, but I don't and I must face reality with this internal pain that I bring upon myself everytime I think you of and say your name and imagine your hair and think about what could have been.

Please, please just say yes or no and spare me having to hold on to this inherently flawed fantasy.



Fuck all of you.
Correction; Fuck -most- of you, fuck the ones who've never felt that they were inadequete, fuck those who know what they want and just have to be so fucking perfect, fuck those who are used to getting what they want and don't realise that in doing so they have just warped and twisted and shredded the dreams of someone else, and that false hope is the worst kind of all.

How I hate myself.