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i don't want to exist anymore. i don't. i need to die. paula needs to die. rebecca needs to die. sakura needs to die, akuma needs to die, astareal needs to die, koala needs to die, munchkin needs to die, raku needs to die, every goddamned name i've ever been called by. hell, even becca needs to die. pauline needs to die. ********. we all need to die. they need to die. she needs to die, this girl existing in this body, inhabiting and controlling the fingers pressing these keys. this mind. this spirit. needs to die. needs to cease existing. die. die. die.

Well, maybe that's a bit harsh. At the very least, give this life to someone more deserving. Anyone else deserves this loving family that tries so hard for the girl sitting here. Anyone. Anyone else deserves this air more, these friends more. The so-called "intelligence" the girl is said to possess, though I find it oh-so-hard to believe. Couldn't someone else use this life better?

because i don't care. i just don't ******** care. i thought i would die before twenty; i don't want to live to see my eighteenth birthday. i don't. what, four months? i want to die before four months have passed. i want to stop existing before four months has passed. i want to become a husk for someone to put in its rightful place six feet under, where i belong.

and whoever the ******** says this self-pitying b***h needs to shut up and get on with her life, thank you very much for pointing out the damn obvious. ******** yourself.

my lower lip split today. Maybe if I pulled hard enough it'd split in two and I'd tear my lips off, and my mouth would become a nice bloody river, and if I pulled harder my jaw would snap off beautifully and all you would see is a lovely girl with the lower mandible missing, bleeding like there's no tomorrow.

i wish there was no ******** tomorrow for me. i wish i could sleep and never wake up. i don't need to wake up. i don't.

if only i'd stop being depressed long enough to kill myself. if only. hell, it's not that hard, my second brother has enough sleeping pills lying around the house. all i need to do is take enough until i pass out.

you know what's funny? the best way to successfully commit suicide is to do it on a plane. because by the time it landed you'd probably far gone enough that you couldn't be saved.

i don't want to be saved anymore. i prayed and prayed for years. i got anthony for two years. he's gone now. i forced him to leave for his own good, because he deserves better than a crazy b***h dragging him down. all he did was make it possible for me to know what it's like to lead a semi-normal existence for about a year.

It makes my hell now worse, because I know how it's like to not be like this, to actually care for a bit. If only I could care.

if only, if only. ah. i prayed for so long. but who am i kidding? there is no prince charming. i keep fooling myself, thinking that maybe, just maybe, someone can make me care long enough for me to get out of this house. ********, did i just say prince charming? haha, guess all that fairytale bullshit did infect me. stupid american culture's lies. ********.

Did I mention that I need to die?

i don't think i did. yeah, ha. haha. i need to die, damnit. i need to disappear. i need to. i want to. I need to. the best thing i can do. it'd help my family. they wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. the people i burden with my s**t wouldn't have to deal with me anymore.

why the ******** am i even writing this?

i don't even know. maybe there's some leftover sludge from the crap i've been infected with hoping, still (like a complete idiot) that someone will do something. that maybe i can care.

but that's not for me. love and relationships and all those other lies aren't for me.

For years I prayed someone could convince me otherwise. That someone would show me it's not a lie.

but it is. it is. all lies, beautiful lies.

"Lies. . . . Beautiful lies I've worn so long I don't remember what's underneath them."

huh. momma k's words almost apply here.

... Make my prison a Rubix Cube, and Give Me The Red Side. Blood, blood, I love to watch myself bleed. It's so damn fascinating. Beautiful. Lovely, lovely crimson droplets welling up to the surface of broken skin, again and again when I keep wiping the blood away, when I keep pressing down to make it bleed more.

delicious pain. i deserve it. i deserve worse. so much worse, but i'm a coward, and i don't want to do that to myself.

oddly, the idea of pain scares me more than pain itself. such a little fool i am.

kill me. hate me. plunge a knife into my throat, my chest, slide it sideways between my ribs and jerk it hard enough to make the blood spurt out in lovely scarlet geysers. take the knife and carve letters into my arms and legs, my back. sign my name on my sternum. my blood is your ink. use it freely, take all i have to give. i am an unsullied canvas, waiting for a blade to bloody me and decorate me with all the lovely shades of red the body can offer.

wrap your fingers around my throat, and look into my eyes, and squeeze until the life's gone out of them. And I will love you.