Another Rational and Cognative Nervous Disintegration

Cold black coffee sits in the cup holder in my car next to the window, where cigarette smoke dissipates into the clouds. I think I spend too much of my own time invested in everyone else's lives; what are they tweeting about? What the hell was that snap chat story? 

I smack my head into the steering wheel a few times, and now I wanna smack my head into a wall. It'd be cool to be in a coma; I think I'd find myself in there. There are just so many things to know and try to understand and remember in the universe, too many to know where to start.  

Everyone's talking all around me and I'm not listening to it, I don't care to hear. I go into the kitchen to fill my water bottle and lean my back against the counter. I think about slinking down and keeping my feet in place, letting my ass rest on the cold linoleum, but that'd be anti-social and viewed as attention seeking. 

And we pray to God when we leave the room that our friends aren't talking shit about us. And we also pray that we remember what we wanted to write down, to live by.

I'm dramatic these days, but it's not for attention, but then again it is I guess. Can you be dramatic without seeking attention anyway? Don't the both go hand-in-hand? I don't want attention, I want someone to relate with me, to tell me that they feel just as inconsequential, inadequate, in vain as I do. I want to be told I'm not bat-shit, that I'm not the only one to feel alone. I want the reaffirmation that I'm fine and it'll all be fine; I just want someone to hold my hand and identify. The point is this has started to physically consume me; the headaches, the random shakes, the cravings for everything and nothing at the same time. Everything is nothing anymore. So dramatic, ha.

We pray that our efforts are not futile, like the societies before us-- the Romans and the Greek and such. We pray that we don't go down in history for failure.

There are happy things to write about; I'd just like to live through them instead of taking the time to write them down, because I don't need help with the happy things. I need help with the nothingness that surrounds them, when I'm driving in my car and I gulp down the rest of that cold black coffee, that won't quench my thirst, but will cool the burn from the cigarettes for now.