Eighty-six.

I feel jilted, stilted, unserved and undeserved, mark me down as an 86. I don't feel that welcome anymore. I don't feel very "at home" online. It seems like everyone is doing their own thing, going to all tomorrow's parties, and I'm the one oblivious to the word, world, whatever. Everyone can keep on doing what they want and I'll just tiptoe, no forget that. I'll stomp like a child to the sidelines and wait with patient hope and watch with tears as life slowly melts. It's always winter and never spring, and one little candle can't change everything. Especially when they fade, fade away, and I'm left in the dark, yet again.

It's dark and lonely. Again.

One of those nights.

That you wish someone was around to talk to. Why does the world have to disappear at midnight? It feels like everything is dead, and I'm only a few pills and a swallow away from that. It was a normal night, until I got an email, I didn't really expect her to have that response, well maybe I did -- I have past history to rely on, but someone needs to get a grip, and for once it isn't me. Someone people can't take a joke, or maybe I was just giving them the joke they were looking for, so they could turn me into an answer. Either way, put another mark next to that name and put them underneath all the other names that come and go.

It's just one those nights. And when I wish I could talk about this to someone, I can't find anyone around to talk to. Not blaming anyone, everything I say is pretty boring. It's time to play frantic until I'm a bit manic, and then I can push whatever thoughts are in my head to the side and keep on doing the boring bits until sleep decides to wave in my direction. I hope she waves soon. Isolation in these feelings is feeling a bit rough in repitions.