in the words of my tenth grade English teacher, "Sorry's an excuse...yell it all you want, the person won't take it to the heart, because actions speak louder than words."
Course she wanted me to PROVE that I was sorry...that didn't go very well, or end well. And Mrs. Franklin's STILL breathing down my neck. Trying to fix the philosphy I have somehow obtained. She tried to make me a better person, but I'm a useless peice of space who hates people...that overcomes EVERYTHING.
I could put it into a word problem, but where'd that get me? Even more confused?
To overcome the negitive passion I have towards people, it'd take a lot more than a word problem and few people obseving and trying to fix me. It won't happen. Even if I take a look at my life, and figure out where I want to go, and do with it...it wouldn't. Just thinking about taking my life into perseptive makes me nauseous. I mean, thinking about all the hell and tourture and pain I grew up with that only made me numb and cold on the inside...then the extra push that the back of my head is giving me the boost to make it externall as well...my head hurts already.
And I can't simply say goodbye, either. It's going to stick with me. For the longest. And there's not a damn thing I can do besides try not to think about it. And that in itself is highly impossible. I'd never admit it, but the nightmare I get (that are indeed just memories) would make you beg to die when it's just a projected though, giving you a small taste.
I'm not a quitter, but I guess I wasn't meant to be a winner, either. Congradualtions, Life. You win.
YOU ARE READING
Journal of Clay Walker~
Random"My preferred use to this waste of trees is to write mubo jumbo that comes out as impaired lyrics. But whatever happens, happens, I guess." Clay Walker is in a band. He feels...well, he doesn't nessisarily know how. He's not trying anything in creat...
