What am I supposed to do? All these freaking questions. No answers. Is there ever an end to this? Am I going to wade into the shallow, muddy, murky pool of desolation forever and ever? Is this how's it gonna be? Is this it for me? I'm so freaking messed up when I'm not supposed to be. Any longer. I'm no freaking teenager anymore, am I? There's gotta be a point where all this throbbing palpitating constant pain would go away, fade out, stop. This is ridiculous. It ain't romantic anymore. It's stupid. The excuse of reckless abandon of youth is over. Like years ago. My time has past. And yet I still live as if I was sixteen. Seventeen. There's an expiration date to juvenile delinquency. To indecisions. Indifference. Indolence. It's gotta stop. I have gotta stop. But how? I can't. I can't let go. There's so much to hold on to. I must keep something for me. Some things. Or I'd carry on, but I'd burst, combust. Just like that. What the fuck am I even talking about? Oh yah, my future. Just my fucking future. What lies ahead for me, eh? What's looking up? Nothing. Nada. And so I hold on to this iota of hope, of this one tiny speck, a promise of happiness, or at least a taste of it. I mean, I deserve so much better. I want so much more. But I don't know what to do. I don't freaking know what to do. I've been doing stuff. Little stuff. But what more have I got to do?