Goreng

Everytime I try to write something here, I quickly back away like a deer facing a gun.
But fuck that shit, I'm coming back and my mind is more troubled than ever.
If there ever was a time..

Where to begin.
Where to end, I just..don't know anymore.
Not to say I ever did know.
Just now my mind's criss-crossing thoughts about the 8th.
I have absolutely no appetite to work with a hangover. But hey, at least it's a job.
Back to logistics, to the corporate world where I'm just one of the many gears in the system.
Just doing its part, just doing what it's supposed to. Not being that unique snowflake.
Making a buttload of money while I'm at it.

In a week, I'm eighteen.
So I guess it's time to fess up to this point.
I have a on-again-off-again relationship with myself.
I fear for who I'll become in the future.
I'm desperately searching for something to rock my world.
I've tried major amounts of alcohol, and drugs.
Nothing seems to amaze me.
I'm become more and more silent.
Silent as in dead silent, mute.
I say I observe, when in actuality I'm afraid to talk vainly.
My principles are being thrown out the window by the very society I despise.
I have a big part in that.
I haven't had a succesful female relationship for well over three years now? Or was it four?
I'm afraid of women.
I wait for them to come to me.
I fail.

I'm in desperation way too often.
I mask my desperation with strength and cold stares.
My insides are as weak as ever. And I'm not made of any substance.
I feel empty, a shell of a personality I used to be.
I'm an empty shell made to look like manhood should.
Truth be told, I'm not a man. I'm still very much a child, with childish thoughts.
I'm too young to have felt a woman's touch.
I wanna work on being what I want to.

I've been wanting to be an adult for a long time and acted likewise.
I'm afraid to turn into an adult.
I've been throwing my childhood away by maturing too early in life.
Have I missed out? I think I missed out.

I ride my bike home which sounds very 40-year-old-virginesque, and trust me, it is.
I'm a silly attempt to garner attention, I glisten my puppydog-eyes, in vain hopes that someone, anyone at his point, will take me in.
I end up alone, with my music.

Surely that must mean something.