I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.
|—||Charles Bukowski (via infinitives)|
Schizophrenia... Psychology paper.
He sits next to me on his bed. Lays gentle kisses on my neck and I'm sick of him, I'm sick of his lies. Why am I here? I know he lies to me. He likes some girl, with no face with no name. She beautiful, skinny... Skinnier than me. Her hair is nice, shinny and black. black black like a starless night sky. Her eyes are diamond shape and buttery brown. She is beautiful. And he is falling madly for her. Playing games with him and his, she loves this game. Run run run oh how he chases but run to far and he comes back to me. Me... I am in this horrible story. She is the back of my mind every day every night. How can I let her lose? She drives me crazy!! I hate her! She makes my skin crawl. Makes me run run run... And he chases me.