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I am
My Unkymood Punkymood (Unkymoods)
Give you back
Tuesday. 2.26.08 3:19 am
I want them scratched out. Torn out. Ripped out. Gruesomely. Violently. From my thoughts.
I want rape to seem a kind and loving gesture comparatively.

I hate it. I hate them. I hate myself. It plagues me. They plague me. All of them. Everyone. I hear them. I see them. I close my eyes. I smell them. They smile at me. They remind me. They call to me. They beg me to come forth and drown in their sweet sweet inexistence.

I have nowhere to go. I have no solace. My life is full of pain. Such blinding pain. I wish to gouge out my heart, my soul, my mind. Itís all lost anyways. I gave it away to the wrong persons, the wrong beings. Or maybe they took it. They stole it.

Now Iím no more than a shadow or a wraith. And I hate. I hate. I canít stop it. I canít change it. Iím lost forever to this world I so tirelessly run from.

Iím losing friends. Iím losing opportunities. Iím losing myself. But I guess I was already lost, so I canít really lose what I didnít have to begin with.

I no longer write. I no longer talk. There are no more words to explain how I feel. All that I have said here doesnít even measure to whatís truly being felt. Like a river whoís current canít be judged by outside appearances.

Why does she count? Why is she there?
Iím a fool! A fool, to have believed anything other than whatís real. A fool to have felt and feel the way I do for her. She barely knows me and I barely know her. But I love her. I know do. I kept trying to say that she didnít touch me. That she almost hooked me in. But truth is that Iíve been frying on the saucepan for a while now, left to be uneaten. I donít know how many letters Iíve almost written to her. How many things Iíve thought of telling her. How many things Iíve thought of not telling her. Iím certain Iím not much of anything to her. I shouldnít be. I shouldnít interfere. Not with Godís work. Not that I could I guess. Itís not like I had much of any shot anyways. Sheís so above me. Beyond me.

I guess they all were. I just never realized it.

Oh, if I could escape from all of this. If I could only escape from myself. I hate drinking. I canít afford drugs. Death would lead me to eternal torture. I have no escape. No refuge.

I guess I just have to deal. I just wish I could forget.

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Tuesday. 2.19.08 3:56 am
Is this all I'm really made of?

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