Storage Rooms For Diaries; Hiding Secrets Behind Icy Lips

So, school work has been to a max lately. And exams are next week… I’ve been getting less and less sleep each night. The most pointless thing is that I’m studying so much at night that when I’m in class and supposed to be studying, I fall asleep. I’m at the breaking point. I know, I should be doing work right now, but I need to get away for a second. Then on the 27th, there’s the Snowball, which is basically our winter formal thing. And truthfully, I would rather not go. Why go to a dance when you know every girl just wants to go so they can flaut their newest boytoy? Well, fuck them. I’d rather be hideous than a complete heartless, idiotic, obnoxious, stuck-up bitch. So, fuck dates. Fuck boys that could care less about whether you actually like them, I mean, as long as they get what they want and you get to flaunt them, why does love or even like matter anymore? I’ve given up on love officially. Why keep hoping when all you find is the perfect boy that doesn’t see you? Oh, but that boy’s not even perfect. So, you just find yourself abandoned, a wallflower. Back where you started, standing against the shodowy walls watching from afar the pretty girls dominating their thrones. They may be worse of than me, but pretty is worth more than money these days. I guess I just failed from the start.

These days just don’t go by slowly anymore. One day after another, slamming into me as they pass in the halls, leaving their bruise on my “inflated ego” according to every Barbie doll. All I want to do is just lie down in the middle of a street and breathe. If I die, I’ll die. And if I don’t? Maybe I’ll find what who I’m looking for.

Oh my prince, did you get the memo? Princess is gonna go die. Could you just save her tonight?

I’ve lost all enthusiasm for life. It’s like my laughs are just fake until I find that boy that’s just never going to come. I want a boy that could say three words to me that’d make me cry for all the right reasons. Where’s my proof, oh god of love? You lied. Soul mates are for those that plasticate themselves. So, will I die alone? Will I pass your standards when I’m dead? I’m neither rich nor beautiful and I’m not close to charming. This is it. The search is over; all theories of “love” were proven to be false. Boy, you see? This is all that you can do to me.

I should stop writing about heartbreak, when there’s no love here. The room seems colder when I know what’s in store. I need the witch’s eye, to see my death. Will I see myself as I am now and collapse into oh cursed oblivion? Can I withstand this teardrop contest? Whoever you are, lover; I’ve lost my faith in you. I’ll see you in hell for all these things that I’ve done.

I’ve been crying for so long my tears came back into style. Jumped the bandwagon, I’m the most popular in my group of one. Seems like yesterday was the last day I saw the sun. Oh mister, you a bit sad too? These iron bars never held back so much potential. So much more I could’ve done.

Less Than Three;
Rikki [on the horizon]

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Storage Rooms For Diaries; Hiding Secrets Behind Icy Lips

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