See also: | Life, death, and living.

2-17-01

The music isn’t helping me any. This goddamned music isn’t helping me, at all. I should turn it off- I really should.
I should lie down and take a small nap. I need one, a nap- that is.
I wish I could stop the feeling. I wish I could stop the emotions. I wish I could make it stop. It keeps washing through me, and it’s washing me inside-out. Soon, I'll be drifting out with the tide, tired and worn and useless. That could, easily, describe how I've felt for the last six months- tired and worn and useless.
See also: apathetic, beaten, listless. I should turn off the music.
I hate this so much. What is this? Could you please tell me? I do need to know- really, I do. Goddamn, how I hate this. I feel so horrible, all the time, now.
See also: terrible, miserable, goddamned filthy. I need to turn off this goddamn music.
I can feel the glass of the mirror in the bathroom cold beneath my hands. I can feel the belts in the closet, warm between my fingers. I can feel the wind taking me upwards onto the roof.
See also: pills, razors, guns. Refer back to: unoriginality.
This music is annoying the living hell out of me.
With the sound of thunder, the burning of carved skin, or the tightening of a noose- the music will finally stop. Maybe then, I'll have the rest I need.