Stan has no friends LMAO

F.R.I.E.N.D.S (Stan doesn't have any)

Is this what it feels to be unwanted? Hanging on a thread of hope to see if anyone really cared to check up on you? It's eating Stan from the insides, a dread of pain at the pit of his stomach, munching on his lungs and the final piece of his heart. Nothing feels real anymore, spending the day with an artificial light on his face for any new messages he knew wouldn't come. No Kenny, No Kyle, no one. Only company is the shadow of his reflection.

Maybe he was lucky to get a message or two, though they were only when they needed him. So maybe that's why he is like this. Trying to get the attention of them, for them to see him as useful and not something to discard. Why was it like this. He only started distancing himself for 2 days on summer break, why does it feel like he was completely forgotten when he came back? He can't tell him about this, he will just seem needy, like he is begging for attention which he doesn't need. Stan doesn't want to drive them away even more than he did already. There's nothing he can do, but sulk, which is pathetic. He's pathetic. Was he just unwanted? Unneeded? Why does this have to happen. Why can't life just give him a break, he knew these friends weren't forever, but it's to soon to let them go.

Burning sensation started to appear at the back of his throat, was he really crying over this? Over something so stupid, he can't believe himself. Stan's better than this, why can't he just be unbothered? Fuck, he really wanted to be Craig right now, that fucking bitch always acts like he doesn't care. Carefree, flips people off likes it's nothing, it's kind of admirable. Though that's the thing, Craig couldn't give 2 shits about him, so he really has no one to turn too he guesses. Absolutely FUCKING no one.

To be honest, Stan doesn't want to deal with this bullshit anymore and disappear into his bed, his silk blanket covering him from the actual world is literally all he wants to do. Just hide away from his responsibilities. The sudden pleasure of wanted to drive his fist onto a fucking wall, slap it, bang on it until his once unscared fingers turned bruised and bloody. He wants to see them broken absolutely shredded, maybe just to feel something. Well it's obviously going to cause hi pain and make him cry more, but he doesn't care. It's the pleasurable thought that mattered, really, it is. That's why people say looks deceive people. He doesn't hate him self that much, he swore when he was younger, he would never do anything to him self. And he tries to live up to that promise even though the thought is tempting.

Fuck this.