this is what you get for letting your impulsive thoughts win

 Am I hitting some kinda low right now or do I just need to eat something.

Some excerpts from my Big Book of Bad Writing (HELP AAAU) that didn't show up here in some entry bcuz this account didn't exist yet. I'll probably take stuff from entries here to put in Big Book.

-I would go anywhere if you'd go there with me. The lake looks nice this time of year. Skipping stones (ripples, + ripple effect). No broken bones. One broken heart, though. You can't win 'em all.

-Put a new song on rotation. Handle your spine with care, like gently destroying a spiderweb, decay in fast-forward. Trust me, I'm losing my mind.

-Haunting my bedroom while I'm still alive. When I die no one will be any the wiser.

-I'm unhappy with being happy. Never be better but never be worse. Roulette with a see-through gun, so you know when it's gonna hit. The exit wound's bigger than the entry. Heartbreak in G Major makes me feels some kind of way, pretend like you're thirteen or even ten again but this time you know all the words to your favorite songs by heart. Time travelers must always be so sad to let go of what they have, even if they don't know it. 

-Sleeping in sounds nice, but I know I'll have to get up eventually. Crawl into the crawlspace. No one knows where you are but the walls are thin enough to hear their voices. You're in their walls, waiting to be found. It's so hard to move. Just stay frozen, soft and heavy with sleep in your veins. Close your eyes in the light and open them in the dark. I've always preferred nighttime anyway.

-The cold in my lungs wants to talk. I should've been better than this. Those guys, they know, living reckless living rage. I dig my own grave, and lower myself; I've failed the whole funeral procession.

-Yellow like the sweater you love to look at and the journal you don't own. Give up the game, the score's beyond pathetic. No one likes it when you try to be someone else, but they don't like you either. No win situations could be draws, or maybe losing squared. Chords reverberating in your skull, blasting out my eardrums so I don't have to hear myself think. Shedding your antlers is painful; cover the wounds with whatever you want, because your first line of defense is gone. Figure out how to spell before you try to string together a song. Get in a fight with machines, punch your toaster, walk into traffic. Let the dirt claim you as your bones slowly seep into the space underneath. Tires hurt a lot probably, carving their tracks into your chest. This is what you get for letting your impulsive thoughts win.

-The rage may never leave me. I may always be this way. The window will pass me by, reflections are all I have. Glimpses. Rage, all consuming. I can't feel anything but red, the rest is static. Soothing lullabies of rebellion, deep in the waves I find some sense of peace. Thunder rolls in beat, a natural un-natural progression. Chords are my wings. If I'm an angel, surely I'm the Angel of Inescapable Dread. My blood runs through stardust. Wrong output, wrong line, wrong note. Change the perspective. Use the glass of my window to carve pictures into my mind. I hope I never forget.

I'm too tired to put anything else in here and that's probably the best of what I have right now. Or at least all I'm up for sharing. I might write some more in the book to post tomorrow, or I'll do something else while I eat dinner. Definitely not homework because if I touch that right now I'm going to have a total breakdown.