yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


those blue handled scissors in the bottom drawer of our kitchen cupboards years ago would have brought be comfort right now, digging into my arms and thighs, never skinny enough, never close enough to death. they hurt in a good way, like rough sex, like sex with someone you didnt love who was using you and you both knew it. i wanted this pain and now i've got it and now it wont go away. it haunts me, follows me to all the corners of the earth, whereever i am, he's waiting for me. that poking sensation, that seeping blood and misery. i love the world but i'm not so sure that world loves me and it hurts me so badly. i wonder if i'm just stupid, if anyone understands or just thinks i'm stupd and weak which is probably true. my lungs burn from too much smoking, that understanding i have with the world. i understand those who cant make it, who give up. you have that spark, baby, you can pull through, you were meant to. i am too, i just have to find it. just give me what i need to survive and i'll do it. make me work for it, slow and hard and this will pan out, feel like something it is not for the time being. when my back is breaking and my thighs are red, dont stop then, just go and maybe we can make it through life.
d-land