everynight before i go to sleep i read my book. my book that tells me all these inpirational things and optimism and i should be thankful.
instead i can feel my soul. inside of me. my exact middle and i feel like someone is strangling it. squishing it. until it is dry and deteriorating. you cant stop the cycle of life and i think my soul is just about dead. too much experience. too many mistakes. too many shots. too many things i wish i never did. too many wishes wishing i was someone else. someone better.
and then in some moments i wouldnt change a thing.
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