Be a good girl now,

Be a grown up.

Don't let them see you cry.

The blood red scars where the glass once sliced my pain away.

Is it too much to expect people to understand depression at a level of sub-zero?

Every bridge, every knife, every pill, every car, every cut offers myself a way out.

The sun does little more than to blind my eyes to the happiness that seems unattainable.

Expected to just let go,

to let go of every lie,

every treachery,

every misgiving.

Everything you ever said to me was a lie. How did you expect me to love when you never gave the chance?

colors fade from beige to red to pink, as time heals all wounds they say.

The minor shard of glass,

the only thing understanding,

my obsession.

From my diary dated 4-5-03

Hearing:
Feeling:
Stressing:

past | present

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