I hate my life. It feels like my heart has been torn up, blended, then made into some sort of primitive paste to heal someone else's wounds. At least someone finds my heartbreak helpful.

I can't help get sick. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I'm sitting next to the bathroom in hopes that if I do end up getting sick, I'll be right here. Maybe I don't even care. If I get sick all over myself I'm not sure I'd even be that upset. Big fucking whoop. Who the hell am I trying to impress.

I'm ugly.
I'm fat.
I'm mean spirited.
I'm self-centered.
I've nothing going for me.

...I'm going to be sick.

All I've left is that shiny metal razor in my wallet, and it's sitting next to me. Pick it up?

lips are turning blue
a kiss that can't renew
I only dream of you
my beautiful
tiptoe to your room
a starlight in the gloom
I only dream of you
and you never knew
sing for absolution
I will be singing
falling from your grace
there's nowhere left to hide
in no one to confide
the truth runs deep inside
and will never die....