i don't want to hear voices anymore. i don't want to hear my voice, their voices, any voices. i want silence. i do not want a conscience. i do not want desires. i do not want to want anymore. all that i need to be is content. & that is so very impossible for me to be & it makes me sick & it makes me angry & it makes me want to slit my pale wrists & it makes me want to bleed dark red blood all down my wrists & my hands & my clothes until i c a n n o t b r e a t h e &m y h e a r t s t o p s pumping that dark red blood;; and my bloody ruins will match my red, red, red, red face.
do not tell me anymore. do not tell me your problems. the truth is that i just do not care. i ripped my own heart out. i cut it into hundreds of tiny pieces. & the pain, oh the pain, like teams of horses, reins on my arms, ripping me in oppposite directions. & i gave out the tiny pieces of my heart to all of you. don't you remember? you ate the tiny pieces, one by one, by one . . . there is nothing left. there is nothing left. do not tell me your problems. the truth is that i just do not care. you have left me with nothing;; i can't do it anymore, any of it.
written on 2003-10-14 at 9:51 p.m.
she / lost