What I Thought Of Today (Instead Of Being A Functioning Member Of A High School Society)

Things are easier when I'm socially recluse, never to be seen by another breathing entity. 

I don't have to pretend to care about people's grades, or their new jobs or their family pets tragic run-in with a car.

I just get to be quiet, and not say or do anything that requires even the slightest sliver of empathy.

I'm fully aware that I'm selfish bastard, but nothing I can say or do will matter when I'm dead. 

We begin as dust, and we return to that same dust, and the thing I love about that most is that dust never holds memory.

Sometimes, being forgotten scares me too.

I feel like I've never made a decision in my life, in terms of my gender, my sexuality, sexual preferences or just in general. 

Being minimal scares me, but being outrageous and bold does too. 

Opinions are daggers, that carve at my skin, some of them tickle, while others sting and burn my flesh. 

As I sit in this hot, dank room, I wonder; will I ever be able to feel anything strongly again (aside from emotion)? 

I feel as though I have lost touch with everyone, including myself. I don't know my likes from my dislikes, and I cannot tell the things I hate about myself from the rare things I love about myself. 

I want to adorn myself in a divine way, that makes people think I am ethereal. 

Whether that be through tattoos, jewelry or watching myself fade from existence as I forget what mulling and grinding food with my teeth feels like. 

I am a pitiful beast, and if I were an animal, I would simply get put out of my suffering with a quick bolt of a shotgun to the head. 

This life is mundane, dreary and bleak, and the only times I feel quite alive are when I'm in the liminal space of the hospital walls that reek of bleach and sterilization, watching the blinking white lights form their silent opinions of me. 

Don't mourn me when I'm gone,

I don't deserve your attention anyway. 

I'm just a teenager, in dire need of a situation change and an appointment with a psychotherapist, and I'm just one in a million. 

And one day soon, I feel I will become another statistic.

Here's to a life of torment, regret, frustration, sadomasochism and most importantly suffering.

I'll do just fine in hell, I already know how it feels to be there.