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No one will ever hear me talk like that, even though I think it.

And, maybe I use those words, as vulgar as they are, because the thought itself makes me sick after.

Because it's true.


There are things that will never make it here. Things I find myself coming back to, even after years of bashing their existence, pushing their feelings down. Oh. They want out. They want to be here.

I spread myself out. I give some people some pieces, and some people others, but no one has the whole picture.

I keep remembering something I read long ago, it could have been about me. I wish I could go back and get the words, but I'm not allowed there any more. Something about light. And tricks. And, if it was about me, he was right.

The key to it all is knowing that the pieces will never come together. The person I gave my yesterday to, will never meet the person who owns my today.

You'll never know.

Unless you get all the way in.


I need to get drunk.

4:30 p.m. - 2002-09-09


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