A friend sent me this song today. Fuck, man. Listening to this feels like cutting your chest open and rubbing your bleeding, blood pumping, raw heart against unpolished wood.


I think maybe it’s despair that I’m feeling. I’ve been trying to pinpoint it. Despair and loneliness, but the latter isn’t exactly new. And the walls close in and it’s hot and humid in my tiny flat, ‘she’s so fine, she’s in my mind’ and I’m just. So. Bored.

I’m bored and scared. It’s a god damn terrible combination of feelings.

What are we supposed to do? All of us running around with bleeding hearts and lonely souls and this primal urge to confess your sins to a partner, an ally, a familiar. Where do we go? How do we find each other? And why are there so FUCKING many of us? We reach out for a piece of warm skin in the dark but there’s only the cold walls of our bedrooms and the sweaty sheets of our beds. We try to hold our own hands but it feels so empty to pretend, it’s not even worth pretending. The world is big and wild and dangerous and the more scared we get, the more we look out for ourselves and the less we see each other, the less we feel each other. I don’t know what I’m asking for. Something real, maybe. Sex is a wonderful shield but when that’s been drugged out of you, all you have left is loneliness. And love. Love to give, to pass on, to throw at someone else. And you throw and throw and throw and it just slides down the front of their shirts, they do nothing to catch it. At least give it back, you know, you didn’t have to let it fall to the floor. ‘Needing other people is not a weakness’. Such utter bullshit. Of course it is. Needing love is humanity’s biggest weakness. If we didn’t need that, we’d all be free. Hopes fulfilled, dreams accomplished, problems solved, freedom achieved. Sex a game. Sex is easy. And it’s easy to get right. Love is difficult. Love I never got right. Friendly love is wonderful. Romantic love is terrible. Love love fucking love, shove it up your arse.

Yeah, I wouldn’t date my depressed ass either.



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