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.

This reminds me of that song "Every Little She Does Is Magic" by The Police... except... this has a much more bitter/anguished tone...
» randomjunk on 2008-02-26 04:46:18

don't dwell too much in the past and the unhappiness. u deserve to be happy.
» renaye on 2008-02-26 11:05:24

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