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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. It’s all lost anyways. I gave it away to the wrong persons, the wrong beings. Or maybe they took it. They stole it.

Now I’m no more than a shadow or a wraith. And I hate. I hate. I can’t stop it. I can’t change it. I’m lost forever to this world I so tirelessly run from.

I’m losing friends. I’m losing opportunities. I’m losing myself. But I guess I was already lost, so I can’t really lose what I didn’t 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 doesn’t even measure to what’s truly being felt. Like a river who’s current can’t be judged by outside appearances.


Why does she count? Why is she there?
I’m a fool! A fool, to have believed anything other than what’s 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 didn’t touch me. That she almost hooked me in. But truth is that I’ve been frying on the saucepan for a while now, left to be uneaten. I don’t know how many letters I’ve almost written to her. How many things I’ve thought of telling her. How many things I’ve thought of not telling her. I’m certain I’m not much of anything to her. I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t interfere. Not with God’s work. Not that I could I guess. It’s not like I had much of any shot anyways. She’s 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 can’t 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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