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busy little bee tangled in her web of misery. with every step she makes, she only finds herself more entrenched. she flaps her wings so furiously that she bats away all helping hands. she wants out, of course, but she can't do it alone. every attempt to help leaves her worse off than the last. the only chance for rescue is someone battling through some tough blows to reach her. but they're all put on the defensive from the rebuke of their first efforts. no one loves her enough to endure the arduous journey. and, even if they did, they'd run the risk of letting her suck them in. they all love themselves too much to let that happen. she is self-destructing.

why do we hate those who want to help us?

everything i do these days is just an effort to find an excuse. the drinking. the driving. the drugs. the sex. the fights. the classes. the jobs. i want a legitimate reason to end it, because general dissatisfaction doesn't derive enough courage to drive the blade deep.

i miss having a reason to be a good person. having friends to fight for me. before, i wanted people to love me more so i did more. but now i know that love is fleeting and superficial, so i can't find a reason to be anything but gone.

i'd wish my death would bring new meaning like those that changed me, but i know that no one would find it. i wish i could reach them. show them. but so many people are against my views, i guess that i must be wrong. there is no place, no peace, in this society for people like me. it's not that i think i'm special or that i've got some gift. in fact, i think i must just be handicapped. ill-suited for adaptation to a bleak and dismal fellowship of men.

what is the world coming to? or has this always been?

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