Trade all your heroes in for ghosts

During the day, it’s almost as though it’s getting better.  At night I know better. 

It’s like I’m a round peg in a square hole–it fits, but it’s not right.  And no matter what, there’s all that extra space.  All that empty space.

To the world, I am nothing.  To you, I am nothing.

Just another annoying and anonymous person.  I never wanted to be like this.  I didn’t wake up one morning and say "Gee, what a great day to become a pathetic waste of space."  I never had a fucking chance.

I hate people who feel.  Anything.  Happiness.  Sadness.   I hate that they are so weak that they can’t control themselves like I do.  I hate that I had to learn to control myself like this.  No, I hate that I ever felt that I had to learn so much self control.  I don’t even know how to be happy.  And when they cry or mope or pout, it just makes me think of  how much of a weak failure I am.  Not even human.  Inhumane.

What’s the fucking point?  You don’t care.  This doesn’t even exist.  I don’t even fucking exist.