when should i then, regretfully, admit that this has all been done in vain. this scheming that was to link me to something tangible and meaningful that has now left me floating in a sea of shit. the smell makes me sick to my stomache and the flies eat away at my flesh. Is this the place I am meant to rot away: in my own filth, the product of my tribulations?
fuck me for trying, and in trying, lying to myself - the thought that i might mean something to someone was too great a force to subdue.
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