at least it's this not that

i implore you to not read this

just a random preoccupation with bleak novels and sad friends but in the end there is nothing worth saying or said.

i wholly, utterly, completely abhore who i have to be now to achieve these ends. chirpy and chatty are loathsome and nauseating. but i am not talented enough to pull off efficient nonchalance, so too bad. suck it up and relish the taste.

a friend asked why is your blog always so emo i turned and laughed at least i am emo and i type to the computer and i don't throw things or cut myself.

what better way to make yourself feel better than stamping on others.

i currently hate me, so feel free to do so too. the strangest thing is the only thing holding me grounded and allowing me to be level-headed now is whispering to myself my mother is dead and i am alive and this fundamental jarring unpoetic but truthful truth is the nougat of purpose i can squeeze in my palm because there is fyp and there are midterms and there is a relationship to save a sister to console a brother to tutor many friends to meet and a very live father to cherish.

my mother is dead and i am alive
my mother is dead and i am alive