February 7th 2005

02/07/05 1:51 pm
Lonelier. Still. Brought on by my own self now. And I've tried too hard. But at least I know. Back to having no one. But still wanting. And it feels as though no one will ever be good enough. My attention is turned to my clean right wrist. So uneven. So pure, un-aldulturated, but still screaming with sin. This was the tool. The tool for the down bringing of it's twin. Punishment so deserved and so desired. And not just for itself. But for me. For my mistakes. I wish I could scream out-loud. My throat is burning to speak. My eyes burning to cry. But the fire that I know will come if I do, is much worse than this pain. If I begin, I'm afraid I'll never stop. My pulse is no longer just that, now it is a consistent knocking. My blood pleading to be let free. Pressure, unearthly pressure. To just make a slice, let just some out. Relieve just a bit of the pressure. But could I be happy with just that, or would I still want more? Always. More.