one of those days, my dear;
each thought is a stab, and each word is a lie.
yesyes, this too shall pass.
but for today, i think you have laid my smiles out to dry.

/my hands keep up with me:
papercuts and ashburns and nasty hangnails.
i love my hands today,
i don't have the energy to hate all of me./

it is one of those days, my dear.
i know the answers are null, but i can't stop the running question "why"...

/i don't want to wear my glasses.
i don't want to talk.
i don't want to remember.
yet i would rather go insane than forget.
i don't want to see my face.
i don't want to walk.
i don't want to dream.
yet i would rather go insane than wake./