Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 847. Or, Not Pretty Enough To Be In Porn. Yesterday, I was full of bile, anger and apologies. Today finally feels like the Sunday morning I've wished for. At every turn, I see what living has become for the wrong, and I know I've done right. I don't care for the bars and boxes you've set for yourself. You may keep them, alone and lonely. She keeps searching for someone else to fix her, bitching and moaning about other people reopening her old wounds. Had she taken the time to fix herself, I imagine they wouldn't seem so freshly bruised. God knows, I laugh at the vain attempts to repair what she's done. The myriad of books, CD's, seminars, therapists, hormones, pyschics, they've all just daisy chained themselves, biting each other's tongues. My biggest battle, every day, is keeping her misery from tainting my own picture, the one where my head is buried in the sand, drunk on unrequited love, and being beaten with a two foot pink dildo. He's stock piling my hair accessories. Bobby pins and rubber bands sit in a pile on his night stand, on his coffee table. Discreetly labled video tapes wake me up in the morning, switch positions, this isn't doing anything for me. I realize I was never in love, but that does not diminish what it is now. Me saying it with my mouth, and he with his eyes. I don't want to believe that eyes can lie too. 11:19 a.m. - 2004-03-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||