there is so much reason for the dark, dark, dark scarlet blood. there is so much reason for the nightmares, for the pain.
for three whole days i have felt like i am going to vomit. the feeling is not going away. & my mother told me that she never saw a nineteen year old on so many medications last nite & that my kidneys are going to fail.
i write so much now. i write for me & for school & for people. & i think that i censor so much. for school, i have to because college professors have this vision of what writing should be. so i do it. & i get a's. and today i got a b+ & i almost threw up on the white tiled floor in the stuffy class room. it was only because it was english. because i get a's in english. & tomorrow morning i will have contemporary math class & i will get a quiz back & i will say thank you God if it is a passing grade. see that's the way it is with me. but the thing that really makes me mad or sad, i don't know, is that i censor even what i write for me. i have this standard that i have set for myself. this list of expectations & requirements for what i think my writing should be. & if it's not then i do not write it. & that is the biggest crock of shit i have ever known; because writing is all that i have. & the more that i think about it, it's all that i might ever have. & maybe the things that i censor are the only beautiful things that i could ever have.
i do not want to to be sick anymore & more than that i want people to believe how sick i am. i don't want my mom to think i am making shit up. because really i wish i was making shit up. & i do not know how much longer i can go on with this feeling, this mother fucking nauseous feeling. it's a fucking plague. i am wearing the red masque of death. didn't you know?
i have to be a character in one of edgar allen poe's short stories. that's the only explanation.
written on 2003-10-21 at 11:31 p.m.
she / lost