...Eden
Saint Louise Was Listening On
1:37 a.m. || 2004-03-27
ok, well, more tonight on just giving the fuck up.
you dont know. you just have no idea, and even if you did it wouldnt matter.
all this means is nothing at all. i am so fucking alone.
throw it away.
throw it away.
dehydrated, hungry, fat, tired, bored, going to a bra clinic in 6 hours. not going to get enough sleep. bleeding. stressed. wishing there was another way to do all of this. wishing for a way out and the courage to take it whenever it comes to me. however it comes.
suicide is an after thought on nights like these, semen is a peculiar taste, friends are rare, sleep is fleeting and precious, like universal truths are, and in my own head ive had enough fucking truth to last me a lifetime, believe.
i have all the time in the world it seems to sit here and hate everything i have made myself into, and everything the people i have surrounded myself with cannot give me.
ever rub the scum from your own pussy off your finger and into your eye? no? did that make you ill? cause it made my eye pissed.
i imagined my screams and cried, because after everything i think about it's not what i want, and it's not what i'm about to commit to. its nothing you would want to think about. its not worth the time or effort to start fresh. sometimes it's not worth the effort to begin at all, sometimes its all the more effort to end.
let's end this together, shall we?