grieve
sylphide And now I look on myself wallowing in my grief and wonder how I ever became such a basket case, why is it me that has been left unfilled, unmade, like Iím missing these huge pieces of this puzzle that define what the picture really is. The finally makes sense. Fuck everyone who questions reality. Fuck everyone who asks questions of God. I ask. I ask the universe now, why does this not make sense? Surely I have a justifiable reason to doubt the world. I donít want to die, But I donít want to live. I donít want to have to keeping playing make-believe that everything is really okay. Keep on finding ways to postpone my grief, letting it out in little doses to little people who think they understand. To those who verbally pretend to comprehend. No one has known him as I have known him, no one can miss him like I can miss him. No on e can understand what part of me is gone, and will never be there. This is the biggest regret I have, the regret that this is something I canít change. A decision that has affected my life entirely and I didnít make it. No one made it. I didnít do it. After all the fuck-ups Iíve done, the worst fuck-up of all, thatís totally destroyed my life, wasnít made by me. No one has lost him the way I have lost him. And that justifies why Iím here. I can blame my poor sorry little life on that. Heís my scapegoat. Iím using his death for my own benefit. But how? I canít help it? Does this death lead me to disorder on purpose. I feel cheap. I want out. This canít be right. Itís not cheap, I canít believe I said that. Itís gone. Itís gone, and I wish it was here. I wish I could think for myself, but no decision is worth while
Iím just an unfinished jigsaw that no oneís ever going to finish. And I donít even think my closest of closest affinities will ever understand that.

I celebrate his going-away everyday with little things, uppers and downers. Depending on how I want to make myself feel better, how I want to aid my pain. Maybe being responsible for my life is recovering. Maybe taking charge of my life and my spirit and my doings and my motives and my morals really means itíll be okay. But I still live in the great divide, ever flipping over the coin of thought just to see whatís on the other side.
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Witchesrequiem Certainly my voice goes out to you where ever, drifting on the embers of your perfect grin smile. Sad Saterdays grow more familier. The shiver of a ghost brushes my cheek. This heart hates to bleed your forever. Hold me tight to feel some warmth. Drinking to destiny I wallow in the black and glitterd light. Alters never bled for any thing more sold. Todds crow is just as lost as his star. Always the prophet to rush the walls. I caught a fever once from your cursed flesh. Never hold your angel untill she's bleeding on the floor, never tell her how much she means untill she's had to much to endure. 031027
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ungreat In gulps, in gasps, in choking screams, tears that run like rivers, or are dammed just barely by swollen lids, why are we doing this again?

No my heart is not breaking, but the guilt piles on and on. The anxiety. The self disappointment. Not that I couldn't have been better, I just wasn't. I'm just not.
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