My feelings exactly.

Painting a picture of my own destruction. When I do it I'll add blood, pain, and merciless hate. Towards you, towards everyone, so fuck you too. MY eyes are apparently too blind to see, MY ears are apparently too deaf to hear. Well hear this. And see it too. My mind is wasting away. My heart is falling apart. My body is dying. My life is failing me. Just. Like. You. Just like always. Looking through faces? Looking for answers? Met someone new yet? Found a new face yet? Maybe. Maybe I have. Maybe I know. Maybe I heard. Maybe I answered, most likely you didn't. Maybe I just know better. Probably I don't. So I'll go read a book, or knit a scarf, or sing a song, or possibly start on that painting. Or maybe I'll just do my homework to get something done, or clean my room to make my mom happy, or rest. Rest my dying body. Don't blame me, I was only in the way.

I wrote this when I was 16.