If sleep is for the weak I’d much love to be weak indeed and yet though I feel so fragile and tiny I have little sleep. To be weak and still have little sleep: such is the curse of the college life.
Classes haven’t even started yet and here I find myself with a heart that has sunk to the bottom of the sea because it was filled with rocks. Rocks which I put into it in the first place.
It wasn’t like I didn’t expect it. In fact, I anticipated it. So why did I still continue?
Because I’m a drug addict who feeds on emotions rather than the pharmaceuticals to blast enough hormones inside me to still let me feel alive. Because otherwise I feel like nothing more than a machine which calculates peoples actions and uses it to its advantage.