Bitter

I feel sick today. I'm tired. Cranky. My muscles are tight and stiff and sore. There's a pang in my chest and a scowl on my face. I'm sad. I think I'll lay in bed today. I'm laying in bed right now as I type this, in fact. The curtains are drawn, and it's dark in here, in spite of it being only 9:28am. I feel haunted. Maybe if I pretend that I'm not here nobody will notice that I actually am. I feel disgusting. Weird. Fat. Old. But mainly sad... If I close my eyes tight enough will the ghosts go away? They are everywhere, and I don't know how to escape from them. I want a fresh perspective. I am doubtful. And I'm a cynic. I miss the butterflies. Although... they are probably the most terrifying ghosts of all. Those treacherous motherfucking butterflies. Bastards. I've never known anyone as despicable as they are. Liars. Cheats. Pricks. I need to wash my mind out with soap and some steel wool. I need to cleanse myself of all this garbage. The ghosts and the butterflies can go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned. I'm staying under the covers today. Sheltered and alone, as it should be...