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...an egg in a field of shit...
I want to write meaningless dribble and watch it drip off
the page like ink in the rain.
"Would it be wrong would it be right? If I took my life
tonight? Chances are that I might. Mutilations out of sight
and I'm contemplating suicide."
I love those lyrics.....make me feel normal in a sense.
Although I'm not normall and never will be noraml.
Nor do I have any desire to be that.
The prozac is working...my dreams are becomming less and
less destructive and I'm feeling quite numb...
althought the desire to slit my ankle just to see the blood
is becomming a lot more distinct...
I'm just waiting for the fuel.
Cos I know it will happen...in a matter of hours my perfect
paradise will reak havock on itself and I will be the
little girl standing in the middle of the storm...eyes wide
and scared. Knowing...
Or at least that's how it feels when that happens....
Blah....I want to have somethig to say but there's nothing
I feel like I've been put on medication and need to feel
pain to feel again.
I will not cut I will not cut...
I can feel perfectly fine without pain, can't I?
I know I can't...
I feel like I can't feel my skin
And I'm starting to panick...
I scratched myself and all I'm getting is this pathetic
But I WILL hold out tonight for as long as possible....
And try to sleep it off