the pattern.

each time i break, i come up with a brave, mature, confident, nonchalant front.

i laugh it off, shrug it off, i tell people what they wanna hear. they tell me its good i can think that way.

and then i drink. i drink everytime i can. and i sleep. and i don't dream. and i let time pass.

till i am all sober again. hoping that tomorrow would be the day i find peace with myself.

but that rarely happens. and by then something else would break me. 

thus resuming this never-ending pattern of my sick sick sick life.

one day i will have the guts to throw it all away.

one day i will leap. one day i will fly.

till then. the pattern resumes.

like it or not. i tried.

the pain.

i cannot get use to the pain.

no matter how many times i go thru stuff like this.

i am pathetic.
and i should not be here.
i am tired.
and i suck.


as secondary school as it seems,
i hate myself.


and i knew i never stopped.