so i really havent been around this place lately, i bought a couple more journals, i have a boyfriend, i have a job, i go to school, i have softball. face it children i dont have time anymore to sit here staring and analyzing and im so very sorry, i loved this so much but at the same time i felt it was my job to come here weekly and spill my life out onto the floor through this internet canvas that i can change in a heartbeat. i have to get out of here, i got accepted to a university i dont think that i thought that i could do it and i dont think that anyone else thought that i could do it either so i almost peed my pants. i cant believe that this is in text but i love my boyfriend. it almost makes me sick, i became everything that ive ever hated, but i kept my pride and my humility, i love you gift of poison pen.

what the hell am i doing here, i dont belong here... i dont deserve to be happy and i dont deserve anything i get unless its bittersweet death, i cant believe ive changed trades, whatever makes me happy, whatever i want? what??? since when is it allowed for me to be happy, its never been ok. i cant describe in words how i feel anymore, to blatently put it i dont know how i feel, i might be horribly depressed or excstatic and honestly i cant tell the difference, so thats the news flash.

we all have our own little stories, and with them we take the good the bad and the ugly. the sad, the infamous, the fake little tid bits of life that we suck on in the fog, in your car, with the houses that look like they fell out of the monopoly board game of hell. tragic when our lives are over and all we tell are stories, reminicing doesnt instill hope. fuck that sound that creeps through you and makes you shudder, fuck breathing, and fuck hoping, this is the happiest ending to one of the most tragic stories ever told, and thats the end of that little diddy.

there goes your fucking ego, madewithout

so this is my shiny day waking up late and wailing my face into the mirror, i adjust to see the bags under my eyes unfolding to show lack of emotion and veins that flow blue. i wish i was intoxicated, maybe someone could turn the volume up i get to school and the teacher asks me if im alright, im a thin paper bag blowing in the wind and the glue holding my bottom together is coming undone. everyone is on mute and im living like a robot, just push my buttons and show me where to go, and ill be there. get in my way and ill bitch you out until you cry, and look at me with hate and ill laugh untill you cry... and when i get drunk my secrets spill across the floor and leave bloodstains that never come out no matter how expensive the carpet cleaner. and this is the end of the world, the train isnt slowing down and i cant see out the windows, i always liked the view, and i always liked writting songs on my deck as a child in the summer, but now i sit here in this big uncomfortable computer chair thats been stained blue and write my life away hoping no one steals my words that spin webs , convulse and leave this place a mess, only to collect dust in the end, according to tim i am immortal.

i used to have so much to say, a million opinions and a dozen notes stuffed in my pockets, thats my favorite thing in the world you know, finding little scribbles in my coat pocket from the coat that i havent worn since last winter, id rather find my words scribbled on post its than 20 dollars left inside my jeans.

my soul is dried out, cracked and fragile... broken again and again, and taped back together... and i swear to god i dont fucking care if it falls to pieces all over the pretty marble floor that you just paid some bald guy to clean. lick my fucking wounds you whore, and please dont hurt the feelings of that little girl across the room, in reality im sitting on the other side of the world completely oblivious to everything around me thanks for being and thanks for speaking in tounges. i need to start over, make a new personality and maybe get the balls to cut myself open and let everything out to stain your shoes and your pretty litttle world. i wish i couldent speak, and i wish i wasnt poisoned with this gift of pen, crafty lady... better yet crapppy lady, ive heard it for years and i dont plan on giving a crap... its nice to know that you can insult me  and it'll just slide off me like a dead body on lubed plastic. o i cant believe she said that, wow. trouble here it comes again, i dug my grave to the other side of the world and its time to start over and relate myself to something other than nothing..

till they come for you let apathy swallow the world, but by then there will be no one left to save you.

eyes from corners creeping up on little girls in the night, im not here for your entertainment, but youre here for mine. its a sad story with a horrorshow ending... my body is failing and my life is fading, i have no concience and im down for anything, scary raising me huh? parents are the life support that you cling to in a hospital bed, just unplugg and get it over with. the color blue isnt sad enough, and i cant tell you a story, i dont know anymore. i just want to live and stop writting. my juices arnt flowing and the creative flow is just a job at this point... fuck you for being

last time  you said,"your going to go home and write about this" and then they all turned to me and said, your a writter, and i replied while in my haze "no, but i pretend to be"

and then i went home and killed myself, doing as you said, and taking from my haze memories that i have now forgotten. im born again and watched the same type of show, and still sit here, in front of my interactive television set and write like the air i breathe is thinning and soon ill run out of life, and what will be left of me? this secret legacy of journal entries adressed to no one and lacking moral standards of thought.  i wink and no one wastes a smile...  i dont really have much to write about, this isnt  a diary, im not going to give you a play by play, because i dont know it, i looked the other way, and ran when i heard the scuffle of feet heading towards the doorway... like rats in a cage we sat in the smoke and the circling room, with leers i sit here staring out the window with the shades drawn.
 you smoke in your sleep and ive never seen that before, its like sleepwalking your way into a closet and locking yourself in somehow, and you wont lose your pride yelling for help when you wake up, so sit in your closet and die like you would in a movie, its not half as beautiful without the score is it?