I definitely fuck every January.

Not to deny the love towards them, my ‘precious’. Somehow, this conflict is totally depressing, as much as frustrating. I still can eat, but I can’t stop thinking, I still can laugh, but I can’t concentrate. I hate Jan-fuck-uary, seriously.

If last year’s January was the most fucked up month I’d ever faced, this is more neck-breaking.

If last January I was stuck with the feeling of killing my ex for snatching my bloody best friend, this January, I am stuck with the feeling of killing myself for hurting people that I love.

If last January I had to swallow all the pain, this January I am swallowing all the blame.

Now that I admit it was my fault.

Yes, it was.

I shouldn’t have said what I want to say, I should have said nothing.

So I fucked myself up, now my baby brother is the price that I have to pay.

Love, the matter to deal with the most fuckable or let’s say useless people are not that hard, to compare it with your beloved ones, your own blood. This is my first time, pardon this gloomy bitch, I never felt as miserable as I am now. I am back to black now, I suppose.

But I still want that vampire.

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