I don't talk about the scars. Not how they got there, or why. If a pill could fix it I would've been better a long time ago. If saying "I love you" had any meaning behind it at all, it would've stopped by now. And I'm so sick with it right now I could curl into a ball and disappear. Un-create myself. Go back to the nothing in the nowhere that it all began. But I can't. And I can ill afford another careless mark left in anger, in self hate, in desperation.
I just want to disappear, to curl tight and become very small.
4:53 p.m. - 2004-01-23
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