unhinged it's been along time. months and months and months, but she told me he was snorting and i went numb. so sick of hearing that people i love, people i know are worth the world, are snorting. it made me numb. are we all worthless? is it easier to have dreams and crush them with drugs than try to live them? i remembered when i thought and hoped with all my heart that they would get everything they wanted. they don't want those things anymore. i sat there writing all of them on clean paper. tearing them out of notebooks. (i saw her today and things were refracted again) so many sheets of paper strewn on my bed. and i knew as i wrote them out that she wouldn't get it; she would snicker or she would get pissed; 'why is she telling me all this? she just wants to make me feel bad' like god says sometimes the truth hurts. i was listening to the smashing_pumpkins; they always made me numb. snorting, writing, listening. i picked up the blade and stared at it for awhile. it took longer now, but i wanted to know if i could still feel. i wanted to know if i could still hurt myself. it was tearing and it hurt and i bit my lip. i forgot how much i liked it to hurt like that. the blood welled to the top and i forgot how much i liked the taste of rusty_dreams. i finished one design and set it down and changed my clothes for bed, but i hadn't hurt enough. one more line; just one more. my skin itched. i wanted every inch to crawl with that pain. the dull stinging afterwards, the pink/red. he asked me today if i was happy yet and lines that had not yet scabbed burned holes through my long-sleeved shirt. 020402
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