I was going to try and write soming profound, but then a "great idea" sparked before the page loaded and I say to myself, fuck it! Who the fuck reads the stuff I write anyways. I mean what is the fucking point of having a live journal of my rambucous twenties when nobody really gives a damn. WHen a friend of mine gose tumbling down the rabbit hole I am always try my damndest to be there to catch em, but Iwhen I take the fucking plunge, not even a glass of water is there to help me. I shatter in several million pieces and in some obscene will ,in definace of whatever power that led me down that dark shit staind hole, I piece myself back together with superglue. But now the glue has worn off, and once again, nobody gives a damn but their own life. It baffles my retarted mind on how others can just let it happen, while I myself can watch myself still not learning for lessons past of how the if you help the world the world gives you the finger. wait, why the fuck am I still writing this piece of shit
