♡ 12.10.21 A ♡

I feel so sick. Literally and by of myself. I hate it all. I offer myself the ability to love out of sake of fear. I hope, and let. Then fear is reflected by reality. I allow because I consider myself delusional but then it comes true. Murphy’s law has been kicking me, knocking me over. I’m coughing, bleeding, dying. When I feed into delusion it’s just as bad as feeding into outside delusions. Lies, otherwise stated. My own sickness is more reliable than the words the impressionists gift. “I’m not much of a words guy, i’m more of a gifts/affection touch person myself.” I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you but I pretended to love you. I always pretend because you men are so hostile to the possibility that not every girl wants to be yours.