Et le sourire de dépression, ça c'est con quand ça vous prend, là ça vous colle au corps, ça vous gratte partout, tout l'temps (Louise Attaque)
Sitting up in this room, just whining over your pathetic self, knowing that it won't get you anywhere but to the place you were before. Thinking that growing up is definitely harder than it seemed. Feeling that your throat becomes hoarse, that some kind of ball has settled its nest over there, and that your eyes become wet. Not even understanding why. Raging against yourself for being so weak. Raging for being able to find the strength to hate you, but not to love anyone. Bending down your head, grinding your teeth, because you know that this is useless. Smiling weakly... for not even using your own language to express your anger.
# posted by
Nocturnal Azure @
10:47 PM
|