This morning I nearly thought myself into a coma, or some sort of incoherent state. This morning I hated myself; I hated myself the way I hated myself weeks ago, but every time it feels worse. I can't make someone else happy if I can't even make myself...not happy, but even just neutral.
My jealous eyes already possess.
My hateful mind hates only itself.
I wish I was avant-garde.
I wish I was clever.
Witty.
Attractive.
Smart.
I know what I would make myself. I hate that some people are already my ideal. I move too slowly. I was never able to move at all. I've said this with sincerity before, and now it is still as genuine: I want to die.