With my alarms set to go off in five hours here I lay... not even pretending about wanting to sleep. But here in the dark I have no choice but to dwell inside myself, and feel bitter. Bitter at my own short comings, disgusted that I had to close a tab with someone's poem because I couldn't stand to stare at someone's creation.... someone else's realized creativity once more.... feeling pathetic that I can do nothing on my own, that I won't even try to do anything more than write this words here... not a story, not a poem just an ill fated attempt to have someone else say something... anything to me.


Making me all the more pathetic. I really don't know anyone here... and the two that come to mind to counter act that statement I'm hoping never see this post.... Good night furs, fur lovers of all kinds. I'm tired of being tired and I think I'll let myself rest one night.