The Comeback just means reliving the things I'm severing my life from. It's the same bull shit that for some reason, some of us can't outgrow. A few nights ago, I found myself (anyone ever notice how often I use "I found myself...dot dot dot" ?) I found myself curled in some chair in the dark, pretending to be asleep, and wanting to gouge my eyes right out of their begging sockets and rip my ears off and feed 'em to the dogs. I don't know why I keep surrounding myself with sad, bitter people who make me want to implode. But what really squeezes my nuts is the fact that I keep going out of my way in putting the effort to being a good friend with fucks who would never recognize their feet up their asses. And when I think back on how often I feel this awful about myself, I do the same thing. I drag myself out of the situation, slam a door, and drive off some place where I can be bitter on my own, and relieve everyone else with my silence. Because I'm never mad, oh no no no. How could I ever be mad? If I take that step, I'm only on my way to some unnecessary and nasty exchange of words. So I just leave, like always. Rushing out fast, quiet, and easily. Then I hand out the coldest shoulders and let silence speak for itself. Sometimes, it's just better than direct confrontation. Sometimes confrontation feeds the flames. And I definitely refuse to feed any flames.
Always leave. Always leave.
Always leave. Always leave.
