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when the wind blew, you thought bobby was angry. and it would blow, and the gate would open, there he would be. with that look on his face. you thought you could die, like you thought you could die when he brushed the hair out of your face, and kissed your forehead. like you thought you would die when he took the pain away. like you thought you would die when all of the sudden, everything was answered. he gave you the strength to paint again, after all of those years. he gave you the subject, he gave you feeling, because you thought you were dead. there you were. ready to die again, and again. a phoenix rising. but that�s what you are really. you die, everyday. you put pieces of yourself every where. will you run out of pieces?


you came here dead. you were d.o.a., in a moving casket. you came back, like you always do. what makes this time any different? you know, in that hole you have, no one else will ever fill it. you don�t believe it, but those pieces you give away fill it. you feel it, you shake it off. you want someone else to fill it because everyone else does....

what you really want is someone who fills the emptiness with something other than another person. someone who understands that need, who has learned to fill it, and not to need. someone who can jump. but in the meantime . bobby jumped. he was the only one. but when you both landed, and dusted yourselves off, he didn�t want to jump again. it wasn�t fun for him. he didn�t want to find bigger, and better, cliffs and oceans. he could only jump once. you�re a jumper, carie. you fucking jump. FUCKING JUMP! there�s no fucking around with you. and, fuck it. why live your life with regrets? you die everyday, and you only live once. you get burned. hard and fast, harder and faster. over, over, and over again. in the meantime . harder. faster. harder. faster. always.

you�re broken, baby.

10:20 p.m. - 2002-02-16


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