I'm 19. And I am still in high-school. How sadly pathetic is that. I want to go to uni, but I have not got the gpa, nor the will to raise my grades. I will be a failure, working 9-5 at fucking Walmart or something. I feel like dying. Like this:

swinging slowly, my body sways with the residual motion of my movements, the breeze ruffling my shirt and tickling my stomach and creeping up my chest like the hand of a lover.
My arms stretched taut above me, I concentrate on the pain, the tendons and underworked muscle stretching and little by little, I feel my sudden burst of energy dispel. Weary, I force myself to recall my life, played forward from the time of birth till now. I think about my parents. Their beautiful smiles and kind hearts, and the cruel, cold, mean, and sadistic monster that sprang from them. I love myself. I hate myself. I love my parents more than life. I would kill them in an instant. i am made up of Kierkgaardian paradoxes, and accepted that it was a virtue.
The events of my life play out to the Shatner version of Pulp's "Common People." As I hang from the building, my fingers clutched tightly around the bottom rung of the guardrail, i feel the warmth behind my eyes, and wonder why. the lump in my throat is so good. so bad. and bitter, and i hate you so much god why did you do this what the hell whywhywhy. im better than this, but everyone else made me this way...but then I realize again that excuses are for mindwhores.
I let go of the guardrail, and the last fleeting thoughts that race across my mind like the silk scarf across the dark moonlit sea that is always there when i close my eyes is: freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...