September, I am waiting

Lit From Inside's picture

Wander through empty hallways.
Into empty rooms.

Running in relentless circles.
Empty coals filling my eyes.

Sew me together.
Find my rhyme.

Pieces are not perfect.

That is not a poem. Ignore it. This girl who you're reading about, she doesn't write poetry.
She thinks about life, and realizes that everything is wrong. Failure at life. Everyone is failing at life. To "live" is such an impossible task. It makes my head feel like an empty garbage can. I am lonely. This is so pitful. Why should I feel so sorry for myself. I have no one. My family-it's their job to be there, I take advantage, but it's mutual. My therapist-I only see her on Thursdays; she gives me light. My friends-they don't really count; its hard to live up to a blind girl's expectations. Mac-hahaha. He doesn't count. He's always there. I'm mucho obviously missing something. There is no explanation for my emptiness, other than that something is missing. Friend. Love. Knowledge. Passion. Something that I don't have, I need something worth butterflies and roses. Augh. Sappiest post ever. Ignore the horror. I am in a MOOD.