This entry is a poem to myself; it helps me to live.
In case of fire, break the glass and use it on your own flesh.
Yet I know that come morning, when I still haven't slept, there will be no one who reads this, no one who responds and tells me that I'm not alone, that they understand.
I feel confused, and betrayed; it seems as if all I can feel lately are these two emotions, and the ever-present pain. I try so hard to work through it, and in a way, this is precisely why I write; to dream, to live, to let out the static emotions in a flow of words, a torrential downpour of feelings that I can put down and shove away. Maybe if I write fast enough, they won't catch up to me, and I'll feel better in the morning.
Maybe if I close my eyes, I won't have to hurt anymore.
Maybe if I reach over, take this bottle of sleeping pills, take this little blade and close my eyes...
I won't have to feel anymore.