December 11, 1998

evening

bittersweet madness. me and my ironic, fucked up life. hello. how've you been today? this carpet on my back is hurting my arms. my thumb is peeling off at the bone. little bugs in my face make me beat my fists against the screen until it bleeds. they bleed. i bleed, but that's a different story entirely. let me tell you mine sometime. i think you'd change your mind about the birds and why they sing in cages.

the little person on my moniter has run away. i wish i could find him. he's kept me company before when i've wanted to scream, yell, slam, bang, bleed. i need a slice of cheesecake and some cappuccino...vanilla all around please. you know how i like to pretend it's raining in the shower. nevermind, dear. it'll all work out quite nicely in the end, i'm sure. hand me the lipstick tubes and we'll make something nice to play for christmas. yes. thank you.

earlier today...

some people are better gone.

i'm tracing fear with my fingertips, my control. should have known the lack of understanding. yes, i am a dumb-ass often. but i'm not frightened anymore. and that is all it is.

ugh. i'm sick. dizzy, room spinning around, around, around. where did my pen go? i need sweet caresses from you. (no, not you. you have dirty water on your floor and i don't care who put it there.) you you you you. smile, the lights are on. won't everyone be so shocked at what they've found? yes indeed. hand me another pen, my dear, i'm on a bed of broken glass and bleeding everywhere. maybe i should write this down before the blistex burns a hole right through me.

i had a guitar once. now i've got ten bucks and a quarter tank of gas. funny how the world keeps spinning anyway. i'd have given up my angel wings to see the rainbows in your eyes again. float away with me. kiss the blood from my arms.

hide me under the covers 'til the ceiling stops caving in.