Day 5229

Today I went to therapy. I hate you all.

My town needs to burn. All of it.

I need to leave. Leave all of it behind, move some where. I also need a better sense of humor.

I refuse to write poems, because poems should be important, not stupid bullcrap about how I cut my veins and grow roses in my wrists. People who do that, need to be refined. If your wrists are "itchy", just do it and stop asking for attention.

Right now the suicide mouse is scaring the crap out of me. "No body knows what true suffering is" those were his last words. Right now, I can swear a melted Mickey mouse is looking over my shoulders. Hope this isn't my last blog. I have no hurry to end it soon, because as soon as I hit the submit button, he will slaughter me away. Like he might have done to my cat. If you ever find that video. Don't watch it.

Alternative school for an alternative kid, apparently things don't work out that way.

Swaggie and snapbacks are my new facing enemies. Just like the dusty wheat colored anger.

As the food goes down and that line on the scale goes up, I wonder what will be come of me.

Have I lost my aquentences along with a chunk of my sanity?

Will my band make it. Or will it be one a true Tragedy in July?

Today it has been proven. My social life is unhealthy. When I was little, I even hated Sunday church school. I would ask to go to the bathroom and escape to the baby nursery. No children there my age. Good. Until I got kicked out.

I'm not whineing. I'm just asking all the wrong questions.

Fairwins*