[1:12 a.m.] : [2007-06-01]
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Dear ______, There is an ever growing list of songs, words piling up in sympathy of my plight. Simple phrases that match my situation, things to perfectly sound track this time in my life, our situation. However as much as the words describe everything there is nothing that can begin to touch upon what I am feeling the anger and contempt and everything else. It's like when a wound scabs over, there is a brittle shell that is building and it is only getting larger. Soon it will cover me compleatly, everything I am. And then it won't take much, just a clumsy fingernail and the scab will be gone and all that I have become will be reduced to a mound of soft fleash oozing blood and puss until I'm all gone forever.
I love you, |
