There will be no angels gracing the lines.

I wish I could tell the world and everyone in it to go fuck themselves.  I wish I didn’t have this conscience and I wish that I didn’t care about people.  If I truly didn’t care one iota for anyone I think I might be happier.  But this pathetic need for warmth and friendship will be my downfall. 

Every time I find myself having fun I know what will come later.  The self-scolding, the self-loathing.  I like having fun, and because of that I can’t.  Not for too long, and not without consequences.  People like me aren’t allowed to have fun.  We don’t deserve any kind of happiness.

Sometimes I resent the ones I care about, but I know it’s not their fault that I’m so fucking foolish.  I can’t hate them.  I know they don’t deserve it.  I can only hate myself.  Because I know better and I still make the same mistakes again and again. 

I’m not as blind as they think I am.  I know when I’m being used.  Even if I don’t know what I’m being used for.  Almost everyone I know only “hangs out” with me because they want something from me.  When will they realize I have nothing to give?  When will they just leave me alone.  Like I should be.  Like I always should have been.

I’m too nice.  I’m not strong enough.  I let them use me because somewhere, deep inside, I hope that they genuinly like me.  That maybe, once, someone didn’t have an ulterior motive.  That maybe they wanted to know me instead of take advantage of me.

I’m too fucking weak.