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These are the times that make me fall apart, ripping at the seams of my soul, until every last fiber dwindles down to dust and drifts away. I'm alone and the yells from across the street echo through my front door or maybe they're screams dwelling inside my own mind or maybe I've finally crossed the line between normal, functioning human being and the mentally insane. It was never much of a stretch anyways, as the yards have crippled down to inches and now I'm running out of space and it's becoming hard to breathe and fuck I'm so damn claustrophobic I feel an anxiety attack itching to be let in. I threw away the blueprints to my life yesterday because they just weren't working out and I need to construct new ones, but I'm afraid of change and frankly it fucking scares me and I'm not sure I can handle yet another cruel twist of fate thrown into my lap. Everyone used to always admire me and how they thought I had everything in my life figured out and was really going places but I'm afraid you were all deceived my the little facade I had going, and honestly I became lost in it myself and now I'm so consumed by it that I've lost any inkling of who I am or ever was. The paint's dried up and flaking away and is smeared in places and the whole portrait is just ruined and can't believe anything ever thought it was a masterpiece when it's clearly nothing more than a piece of shit, poorly done piece of imitation art. Everyone should know I never was much of an artist anyways and while some are impressed with my ability to construct words into something some would mistake as a form of art, trust me when I tell you that I'm no writer either.