Misery at Best

I’m in an immense clutter. I have no idea of what to do, what to say, and even not I know of what to think. Suicide. Cigarette. Drugs. That might sound great to me now.

Pessimism triumph over sensibility. Tears are no longer available in my tear-box. Not that I will let it stream down my cheeks for another million times.

I'm sick. I'm tired. I'm all outta love.

I need something to pacify me. Something that can bring me out of this hell of love. Future court scenes that I am to witness might help, but it might as well worsen things up. Chocolates are no longer the wisest cure for broken heart. A good chat with the best friend is still unsustainable due to life’s call for impetuosity.

Things are made clear, and left to a better understanding. But why o why understandings are unachievable? No idea ever crossed my mind about this at this precise moment. All that I am thinking of are few particular things that I want to think of.

• Fetching Daddy and Daus from airport
• Have a great Sunday
• First day of practical
• Laundry
• Good lunch/dinner
• Hardly any laughs will do
• Good movie
• The so-called "That day"
  

And these are all that I ever want to think of and I ever want to do, for now at least.

Mess o mess, please drown yourself in the deepest ocean or bury yourself on the highest mountain in the whole planets.

I wanna walk on the wild street and sip my Starbucks, peacefully.

I don't wanna sit on an empty road and scream my heart out.

I don't wanna start smoking and please don't let me do so.

I don't wanna stare at the endless ocean and wish that I can drown myself together with my depression deep down it.

I don't want to live every remaining bits of my life, crying.

Let there be laugh.

Sigh, Farrah.

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