the the more I try the worse it gets, the more I try to forget. there's still something missing here there's still something wrong whatever's wrong is not in here, self-medication is a bad idea, the abberations are a pattern now, there's nothing left to feel somehow, and everything you thought you knew comes falling down around you when every fucking thought you never knew would fuck with you are tearing at your sanity and your understanding of what's true is seemingly a lot more skewed than everything you thought you knew. comes crashing down around you and all you feel is longing and pain it's still a drug. the answers aren't there if the questions are meaningless the questions aren't meaningless if the answers are there this is not the answer. bleeding and bruised. the pain is an escape. the pleasure an emotion that they felt so intensely it's still a fucking drug. and you always fucking need it and you'll never not want it never always wanting never nothing wanting never never escape no escape it's always a fucking drug. there's always something wrong there's never nothing wrong and there's never an escape it's escape it's escapism it's still a drug. it always was don't ever think it wasn't don't ever think again.