Me and My Thoughts on Literally Everything

seething

I'm so angry still. It feels like there's no quenching that anger, almost as though what happened this morning has sparked an undying fire.

My fingers itch to just write. To write and write and never stop. I already do that though.

But now, I feel as though I'm not writing enough.

I've got Whitney Houston on because God knows eighties music calms me down.

I'm so tired.

But I can't sleep.

No one listens to me. They all shrug my words off like I'm some moronic ignorant fool. They don't take me seriously.

They never do

I never do enough.

No matter how hard I try, it's never enough, is it?

So why do I write then? Why bother wasting my time, right? Because I know that one day, no one's going to let my words slip off their skin. And that's why I'm writing.

And this fire that's been lit withing me, I hope it never dies out.