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where i've been... [Oct. 25th, 2005|01:32 pm]
[beyond my despair, i feel |depresseddepressed]

they made me see this psychiatrist lady after i tried to kill myself by drinking that antifreeze.
and then the lady sent me to this hospital place where there were a lot of flowers and stuff.
and then i tried to slit my wrists again and they got scared and gave me a teddy bear.

and then i burned the bear and spread its flames across my skin in a beautiful show of red and pain and flame.

they gave up after that and tried to shoot me. at least that's what it looked like. there was this gun thing.

but i ran away and i've been on the streets ever since. i might try jumping off a bridge next.
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i need a plushie [Feb. 21st, 2005|06:46 pm]
[beyond my despair, i feel |angryslightly murderous]

there are no words to express my sorrow today.
perhaps the words "plentiful" and "deep" will have to suffice.

i need a stuffed animal.
if i had one, i'd hug it.
then i'd cut it in pieces, thowing its bit and its stuffing all over the room.
i'd use a knife.

then i'd turn the knife on myself for ruining such a wonderful little stuffed toy.
i am evil. i am unworthy.
i can feel the blood flowing as we speak.
the pain is welcome, for i am a twisted stuffed animal destroyer.

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a poem [Feb. 20th, 2005|03:14 pm]
[beyond my despair, i feel |sadraped on the floor]

a bit of poetry:

i sit naked on the floor,
abused and tattered,
my father had raped me,
if only it mattered.
i lie bloody and woeful
upon the linoleum floor,
i feel light-headed and sick,
and i can't help but want more.
more of the pain, more of the sick,
more of even my own daddy's dick-
i yearn for it all,
for i am not worthy of note.
just pass on by, like usual,
as i pass on,
to hell i go.
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blood [Feb. 19th, 2005|02:40 pm]
[beyond my despair, i feel |crappycrappy]

i cut myself today.
i'm bleeding from both wrists.
the blood is congealing and it looks like two identical roses making my pale skin beautiful.

sometimes i lick it.


i wish someone else would lick it.

anyone wanna come over with some pot later...?
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hi [Feb. 18th, 2005|09:19 pm]
[beyond my despair, i feel |depresseddepressed]

i hate my life.
i wanna die.
i wrote a poem detailing the cruel, tortured death of a bunny rabbit at school today. i wrote it in english class.

mrs. willard wasn't amused.
neither was i.

i need a ciggarette.
and a scalpel.

burning and cutting at the same time... you should try it.
maybe i'll kill myself one day.
that would be cool.
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