a record of thoughts:
—it’s exactly 0913 hours, and I already want to hit something. My knuckles ache to be used, be split open. I want to make it hurt.
—I often wonder if I am truly a human.
—My parents were good people. They are good people. They try their best. It’s only a matter of pain. My heart hurts.
—Why can’t I remember what I did last week?
—I want to kiss her. I want to give her something, but all I have is this body. She smells like flowers, everything about her is so soft… what the hell could someone like that get from me? A taste of animalistic brutality?
—what do you do when you’re stronger than the monsters under your covers?
—I had a horrible nightmare. I don’t remember what it was, but I was disgusted.
—all I ever think about these days is sex and violence, and the two have become intertwined for me.
—I’m going to die alone, surrounded by people who never knew me.
—When I kill myself eventually, what caliber should I use? I want the blood splatter to be absolutely artistic. I shouldn’t think about this.
—I want to hold something soft. I want to speak without thinking. I…
—I am a dog. And I’m not a good one.
—I do not deserve food or sleep or comfort. These are indulgences.
—I still feel sick waking up and feeling skin. I’m a freak.
—I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere. It’s a shame, I really did want it, but I’d never…
—I wish I was drunk. I’d drink mouthwash at this point. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m out.
—Why did I ever trust anybody?
—Why do people think I’m something special? What do they see that I can’t?
—maybe I should do 300 pushups tonight. I need it bad.
—I wish I was drunk.











