soft tiny rivers of blue on my wrists, screaming, "you should see what is inside of us! don't be afraid. just do it." i wonder if it was all meant to be this way. i wonder if there was ever a time when there was hope for me.
i am feeding myself poison, but for what? if i make my self so sick that i become beautiful, will i find happiness? or is it an impossibility? i am only taking breaths out of guilt. if i didn't feel obligated, i would be gone, so far away by now.
i'm not living for me. then again, i don't know if i would call this living.
written on 2003-06-12 at 12:15 p.m.
she / lost