Mine egne små tekster

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  • Publiceret: 15 aug. 2011
  • Opdateret: 12 mar. 2017
  • Status: Igang
Her vil jeg skrive mine små tekster. Digte, tanker eller små historier jeg alligevel aldrig for skrevet færdige. Det er underholdende, at se, hvordan min skrivestil har forandret sig gennem de seneste 4 år.

Underligt nok, er dette, dét, jeg er mest stolt af. Måske fordi, det er skrevet med føleleser og ikke hastværk?

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239. stupidity is an abstract term

I'm not stupid. I just do stupid things sometimes; that's at least what I tell myself.

Sometimes I really wish I was stupid, though. Like, really stupid. I want to be a failure, a disappointment. I want my mouth to taste like my favorite ashtray and my lips to linger after kissing boys I don't care about and my fingers unable to create any essays or reports or anything. Juts be a disappointment and I mean, to be fair, I'm actually pretty well on all of those fronts.

 

There are people I care about and don't want to disappoint, but it seems that however often I think I do, I just don't.. The only people I have disappointed - or maybe just the only one's I think I have - are the boys in my life and they all come and go anyway.

 

Sometimes I get anxious, sometimes I don't care, and that's actually kind of horrible, 'cause when I don't care I make mistakes, and when I do care, I cry about my mistakes. What kind of bullshit life is that?

 

I don't think I give off the vibe that I'm messed, because everyone always seems surprised when I do something to show that I am.

Something that shows, I am.

 

I think if you're going to fuck up, you shouldn't talk about it. If you really have fucked up, people will know.

 

I have less than half a pack of cigarettes left, and it worries me that it worries me.

 

I have no vodka left, and it worries me that it worries me.

 

I really want to taste like tobacco and I really don't want to taste like tobacco. It annoys me that I can't make up my mind.

 

I don't like the thought of not smoking for two days. It annoys me because I should be able to do that for someone I care about.

 

My stomach is turning. I'm not sick. I hate it. I love it. Can't I just make a fucking decision?

 

In my mind I tell people I love them, but my tongue knows those are lies, so I never utter the words. That, at least, is something I got going for me.

 

I don't hate my life. My life is nothing extraordinary. I just hate living... and I hate living with myself, too, I suppose. But, I am nothing but a piece of shit, so I guess it's okay that I hate myself.

 

I want to puke. I want to puke so fucking bad. I hate that the taste of cigarettes linger to the back of my tongue. I love it. I fucking hate myself.

 

Maybe I'm just really bored with my own life? I wouldn't be surprised by now. I love him. Not really.

 

I just hate that I am as bullshit as most of the people I'm surrounded by. I always thought I was better, in a way, but I'm not and I know I'm not, because I'm not fucking stupid enough to not see it, even though I'm too prideful to admit it sometimes.

 

I just hate myself. I just really do.

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