astitchaway's Diaryland Diary



I want to smash my face through a glass window. I bet if I did, I'd just sit there smiling as the blood filled my eye cavities. Pieces of glass wedged into the skin of my face. Maybe my shoulders too. Maybe, if I were lucky, the glass would severe the arteries in my back, killing me insanely. But I'm not lucky. I've been dealt a hand that only the devil can appreciate. They brew the Damned to be strong and resistant. I'm nothing if I'm not at least a fighter. Even when I want to give up, I'm more likely to use a flame thrower to take the world down with me. I'm volitile. Isn't that the way its always been? A spit fire at my worst and Satan himself at my best. Isn't that the way its always been? I've only barely managed to trick myself and everyone around me that I'm starting to get a hold on myself. Truthfully, I lost myself. That's the only way to survive in this life. To let go of everything you believe in. Everything you want, love. To aspire towards nothing trust no one. To find no joy in anything. Because joy can be taken away. Everything can be taken away. So have nothing and be nothing and you're untouchable. Unlovable, too. Even by yourself, but she's a complete stranger anyway.

You can't trust anyone these days. I can't even trust myself.

10:11 p.m. - 2019-05-09


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