taintedside @ 2004-04-15T02: 43:00
I feel like dying. It 's like those lazy Sundays, tasteless, that you leave that empty inside, that should already be doing another on Monday to combine in some way there and fill that void damn, that sense of inappropriateness one's own existence, that stupid question "how much I am worth?" and who already know the answer I give will be "0" even if it is not entirely true, even if there are people who tell me otherwise, even if there are people who appreciates me and loves me for who I am.
not true. This world is not true because every mistake we make is inextricably linked to our own assessment that is more merciless than the most ferocious of the gods, making this life a living hell in which we wander without hope, dragging a hair shirt that marten soul .
I can not give me peace. I do not know me peace. I do not know me peace.
I am the ghost of myself, the most true that only comes out from here for those few who want to read about me, perhaps laughing over a be as useless as me.
I do not think I will ever get this feeling, even confessing my sins before God or against any other person alive or not.
If I had killed a human being I would probably just as well. Perhaps I killed a living being, the solar part of me that existed quell'Andrea and now has more space, even in drunkenness, not in excess, even in being with other people. I died and I was reborn. Off. I am reborn off, no light, no joy, no life, a bag containing many doubts and torments by twisting on itself.
At times I would just put an end to all this tedium, this is not to accept me, all this being terribly insensitive and fragile. Erase, forget, reset, format, and maybe come off and forgotten in a dusty corner of some cock in the cellar for years and years to be thrown away once and for all as something that encumbers the present with its load of stupid sentimentality in the past.
I want to sleep on and off, or hit my head and forget everything.
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