dinner time.

i imagine smashing something against the door that he insisted i close with such a loud voice, WHY DON'T YOU CLOSE THE DOOR?, i imagine i might smash something multiple times against the door that it'll crack and break and rain down in pieces all over the floor, and i'll make an awful mess on top of all that nasty noise, all that nasty noise that the neighbors downstairs can hear, and they can retaliate with however much pounding they want against their thin ceilings so that i can hear their protests. i don't care, really, i don't care. i can't walk and these stupid blisters and that stupid muscle ache that keeps pulling me behind and this stupid life of all that keeps me on a yoyo, pulling me back and letting me go, pulling me just when things are going alright, and i think, okay, i can handle this, this isn't so bad. and almost believed that what was past can stay in the past and that history doesn't have to relive itself this time. that i can be happy if i wanted to. i guess i could. i guess that isn't a lie. i guess then, the fault is on me, and i don't want to be happy. what the hell am i doing here. if it's such a pain to live at times like these, why am i here. why couldn't she have had that other one that never made it to where i am today, the  other one that could have been healthier, and happier, and not such a bother and a better son, or perhaps daughter. fail. fail...