Want.

Right now more than anything else, I only want one thing. No amount of writing or making things seems to change that. Fuck. I want to feel what it feels like to actually release, to actually let go. So much mess though. So much mess to clean up. I know I'm not making sense. I might be good for two more days, but the rain is coming. It's going to pour soon, and the string holding my seams together is fraying.

My hands feel like they are trying not to shake. Who was I kidding? Present girls don't want to deal with this shit, with erroding people. It's so hard to stay here and write this right now. So hard. I want to just say fuck you self-control, and run behind a locked door. I want it. I need it. I deserve it.

Get to bed aly, and stop talking to yourself.