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Ness (_ness_) wrote,
@ 2004-07-03 12:43:00
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    Current mood: blah

    Excerpt from my paper journal..not as bad as my other entries in there..
    5:13 AM No Sleep...Insomnia


    There is nothing special about me. Nothing in particular that would fascinate any living being to come up to me and try to befriend me. Hell, Miah and I would have never met if it weren't that we were introduced. I met my friends either it to be out of boredom in class or if a friend introduced us. Maybe I AM anti-social. I hate it. But I am too fucking shy. Or I already know. Friend I make on my own are soon lost. Just like everything else. I cry to you journal (like a fucking pathetic emo), I write what I think. Will you too be lost from me? No. Because my grandmother bought this journal (the paper one) for me. If I were to have bought it, you would already be vanished from me. Perhaps this why I am not happy all the time. For the happyness I produce for myself soon deteriates into thin air as if it was spirit, dead. I remember it, but I cannot hold on to it.
    I figured out why I am sad all the time. Why I say I am shit, that I deserve nothing. All my life I never thought I was special. I guess when you grw up with a crackwhore for a mom and a foreign engineer who doesn't wan you to live with them (unless for baby-sitting purposes), Make you think low of yourself. When the kids at school and the kids in your neighborhood hated you, picked on you, and even physically hurt you, really makes you think if you are really that bad. I guess I was convinced as a child that I should hate myself since many other kids did. If I hated myself, I should by cool, right? isn't that what the cool kids did? hate me? I mean, if my parents didn't want me, why should I? Makes me think of the other little kids who get picked on with no friends. That they too will be convinced to hate themselves since the other kids hate them. We live in such a sad world. No wonder there are people out there who are murderers. They know it too. We have cruel people out there who kill off self-esteem for their own selfish pride. It's disgusting. Truly disgusting. Makes me want to vomit out of my every orifice.
    Thos fuckers are the reason I cannot appreciate ANYTHING I do. Or whatever I am. They are the reason I am anti-social. They made me fear of people. Social Anxiety. I want revenge. But I shall do nothing. I will let them live a long life. They willsoon understand once they get fatter, balder, and saggy-er. They will pay in time.

    I case anyone wants to know how I write in my paper journal, I will write another excerpt..If you don't wanna read it than don't. But if you hate it or find it pathetic or whatever, just know that I agree. Sometimes I want to burn my journal hoping that my emotions burn away too...
    Ehh...Don't feel like writing an entry...Some things I don't want public to read...
    Here are some really crappy poems. Yay...
    My life will be my sacrifice
    In which death shall roll its dice
    First a two, then a four
    Beware of the necrophelia whore

    The blood of life turns into death
    Pulls the sword out of its sheath
    Then slice my forlorn soul
    My times spent that death has stole

    Even though this may happen
    Every day I try not to look saddened
    These smiles of the serpents guile
    Sly and untrustworth within this horrid vile

    (different date)
    "Suicide paint"

    Dismembered, remembered
    Like the souls of foul snakes
    They yearn for your death
    They spit on your face
    When you close your eyes
    You think your safe--but you're not
    It's far worse when you sleep
    When you dream of you thoughts
    You invision a body that always rots
    You awake screaming in silence
    The laughter surrounds you in the dark
    You look in your mirror
    They see you, but they are not to be found
    Eyes full of the red curses
    Tattooed in your head
    You want to break it, but instead
    The knife, it enthralls you
    It gives you the thought of what to do
    The answer is near
    You can feel it in your temples
    In your mind and in your soul
    Your heart rapes, is never whole
    As everythin releases, all is good in your mind
    Until your thoughts seem to be hard to find
    Your blind, you cannot see
    Touch your face
    Feel what you have grown to be?
    Knife in hand, the grip gets tighter
    The laughter, getting louder, the face, getting brighter
    You don't know what to do. YOUR LOST
    Louder and louder it pierces your ears
    The red eyes grows upon your face
    The knife rises to your head
    It shakes
    You can't make the voice stop
    It's too late--they have you
    "Stop stop! Knife fucking drop!"
    But it won't, it never will
    Heart beat, rising, faster and faster
    You take the knife, penetrate your flesh
    Over and over you say, "Put me to rest!"
    Darker and darker, you slowly faint
    Just another victim of the suicide paint

    Man I wish I was a good poet or a writer...Or good anything...that would be great..

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