the making the floor creak

I just keep thinking, I just keep hiding what people are saying. it's no wonder why I am so disconnected in my own little world. it's okay sometimes because i understand it. but it gets a little sad, when I just want to talk someone, but I cannot. I find it really difficult, especially online. some people think it is easier, but it is impossibly difficult. it is removed, and I can only say a few words. I can't ever stare at the floor, and the spark is robotic and far.

I want to share some views, but I feel drained and sleepy. gym is the only constant safety I have left, right now. I know it all keeps moving, and there will be more, but for now, I wish there were more.

we make fucking sound, to be overly strange in that, or else silent, and—fuck that.