|Current mood:|| crazy|
|Current music:||Slipknot - "Gently"|
i am starting to like myself less and less each day.
i took a bubble bath today (at home, where a fluffy pomeranian enters rooms exuberantly, chewing on a cereal box toy, and i can finally breathe).
i took a bubble bath wishing i had someone to take it with.
and there in the scalding and fragrant water, i closed my eyes and hated the song that was playing. and i thought. i thought about being a ghost. about being silent. about rape, about ambulance lights, about self-mutilation, and suicide. about nighttime, about daylight. about kissing. about fucking. about filth and intrigue. sex and murder. faking orgasms. forcing smiles. i thought about wanting to sleep, about becoming an insomniac. about zoloft and celexa. welbutrin and paxil. about pedophiles and psuedo-intellects. about this journal. about my eulogy. about this angst. about my immaturity.
and then nothing was calm, and nothing was soothing, and the smell of lavender made me want to retch. and my face was so wrong and such a violation of nature, with the waterproof eyeliner that lied and smeared, with the glossy mouth that lied and bled. and i wished that i could split in two. i wished that i could hold me down and destroy whatever lived inside. i wanted to straddle that silly, fucking, shallow girl and break her porcelain face. her mirror owned her. her teen angst guided her. and i wanted to tear the heated flesh apart in a mess of bath salts and blood. she craved true love. i would give her my fist. she pretended to be strong. i would tear out her spinal cord. my hands would shake, but i would bring them crashing down onto the sterile bathtub and break the world apart.
and then i sat up in the water, shaking. shivering so hard that my body hurt.
the bath was still steaming. i could see the heat rising off the surface.
i am insane.
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