four days in february

February 23
2am. Still no sleep. I can’t allow even a splinter of room to let it come to me- if it will at all. The night is longer than the day. The darkness makes it so. And in the absence of light, what else is there?

February 25 (I’d do anything just to feel better.)

the perfect soul
the perfect mind
the perfect face
the perfect lie

February 26
I don’t think I want anyone anymore. I hate people more and more each day. I am sick of myself. Sick of feeling abandoned, rejected and destroyed each time someone I love decides to go away from me. I wish I could trade my mind. I want a dead brain. A brain that knows or understands nothing.

I spit in the face of love. I spit on god for letting me continue to live in this filth of a life and within the confines of my own despicable mind. I wish I were truly insane and disconnected from reality. This mediocrity is death.

February 27
I hate love. I hate what I let it do to me. I want my hands to break or be shred to pieces of dead flesh and rendered incompetent of writing another word about the ghastliness that it is. I wish my heart would break once and for all and never be put back together again. I wish I were incapable of love. I wish I could forget what it is to love or what it feels like. I wish I cared nothing about being loved; I wish it made no difference to me or my life.

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