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Who asked for second place?

You know you're a drug addict when the only time you're happy is when you're high.

You know your mental state is in poor condition when the only thing pushing you to finish tomorrow is the thought of alcoholic beverages waiting for you at The Monkey Bar.

But this lets me see the sun playing peek-a-boo behind houses and trees. And the sun blinding me as I merge onto the freeway, in my temporary bliss, to the point where I thought I could just lose myself and everything else.

It occured to me, I could die. And, you wouldn't know. It didn't make me sad. It just reinforced the tenuous connection I have.

I became so upset at work yesterday, when someone started speaking disrespectfully about other religions. I just got so fucking pissed, I left my chair and went outside to smoke. I lost a lot of respect for the people I work with in that moment, that no one would speak up, me biting my tongue and stomping off. I can't understand ignorance. Nothing will ever make me understand.

We all know you're married to Jesus. Let's leave it at that.

Everytime I masturbate, it's that fucking blonde from work. I know it's because I hate her... you don't want to know all of my perversions. It's the most natural thing in the world for me to want the things I hate.

My pipe is behind the keyboard. Check the altoid container. The backs of my earrings. Because they're always right there.

But you love me, right? In this haze, in this self loathing, this is where the colors come from, and the dazzling damage that I am. I mean, you couldn't love me any other way, than this. Really. I'd be ordinary if it wasn't for the excruciating pain that burns up my chest.

But. You love me, right? When I can go from having the most hope and the most faith straight back down again. But even here, I can see back up.

Can I tell you why I hurt so badly?

Because the happiness I want and need isn't a fantasy. Because I know what I'm missing. Because it's still there, floating out of reach.

I'm just like everyone else.

I just don't have anything to lose by telling the truth.

Ah. Boys with broken fingers. Though they manage to play guitar. Can't pick up the phone... Goddamn you boys with the shaggy hair, hiding those eyes. The certain cuts of muscle, you can never hide. Those are my weakness.

Fucking boys with broken fingers.

You'll be the death of me.

8:39 p.m. - 2003-07-02


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