Poesía

January 18th, 2018

Dear Diary,
       It's officially day 1 of me writing in you (lol). It's a Monday, and I didn't do much. Ashton tried to get me to go to the kitchen this morning for breakfast, but I obviously said no. Regretfully, I was really mean towards him. It's his fault, though. I politely said no at first, but he pressured me. I don't do well with pressure at all. He kept on asking, and I got angry. I threw my mini lamp at him, but it hit the wall and shattered. He just looked at me, and I could see tears forming in his eyes as he shut the door. Ashton didn't bother me after that. The mess is still there, but I don't plan on cleaning it up. I don't really give a shit.
       The rest of the day was spent in my room doing absolutely nothing. I didn't listen to music today because I wasn't up for it. I didn't feel like humming along or anything. Today I felt nothing, actually. I still feel nothing. It's past midnight, so this isn't unusual. I didn't shower today, and I could feel my stomach burning and asking for food, but I didn't care. Ashton just walked in without knocking, and I yelled at him to get the fuck out. He glanced at the journal, and I could see a smile appear on his face. I don't know why he's happy. I'm only doing this for a week because he said he wouldn't bother me after that. I'd do anything to get that guy to leave me the fuck alone.
       There was no specific amount of writing I had to do, so I don't want to write anymore. I'm gonna try and get some sleep, but that probably won't work.

                                       Until tomorrow,
                                                       Michael