let me tell you of the raven's sins.

Reading: Dylan Thomas Selected Poems (illegal stolen copy sue me).
Listening to: Night's quietude.
Mood: fallible.
2014 September 18, 9:40 PM.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Rules of Complaining

4:51 AM
Sleep, oh sleep, kind sleep, cruel sleep, wherefore art thou?

Seven and a half hours for working, one and a half more for commuting, still owing myself at least six articles for the day, coming home with a brutal back pain, the swelling of my monthly curse, and the worst kind of digression of loving. Did I complain? No.

I turned to sleep. But now I am a bad child defying desire. There is still something I must do. Telling stories. Wrapping up the chain reactions into jumbled confusion.

9:17 PM
Headaches. Again. Menstrual, I assume. I have been wasting the day with nothingness. Reading everything irrelevant. Feeling so depressed when the twins asked me to where I want to move, since my parents are selling the house. Oh, God, good God. The house I have been living in since I was a tiny embryo.

MY ROOM!! The place I wanted to slash my left wrist. My room, this room, my only best friend. I don't want to let go. When we finally move out, I will cry endlessly for days.

I know my parents need the money. But it really is my sociopathic brother's fault, for refusing to support his damn family. If he were willing to work to fund himself and his family, we wouldn't lose the house. I really don't want to go, even when the ceiling is falling apart and everything else looks moldy. I want to live here forever till the day I die.

And I have no one to talk to. No one listens to sad problems anymore. Too depressing for them. Everyone only searches for happiness.

I stopped missing you a long time ago. But you knew that. Did you complain? No. You never miss me, anyway.

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