there is still an itch, a pain a torniquet of torture.
living within me, where, from the inside out it is consuming my thoughts. it is polluting my mind and beggining to control, when and what i think. like a yerk.
it is in me and it is eating to escape. my only hope is that it will eat itself to death and explode within me. like a wasteful rush of blood to the head it will errupt. and my controler shall become my consumer. and like an asian customer it will itch. like a rusty blade it will hurt. and like you it will be my torniquet of torture.

...inside my body is screaming yelling at you it is active with fists and weapons flying everywhere , i can't let it out. But on the outside i am motionless restrained by the fear of what my actions will bring. How can i let out what is torturing me on the inside when it is also destroying me ... do i ignore the obvious and extrude violence and profantiy in order to retain my sanity or do i just add it too all the other issues hidden in my feet and continue to smile at you as you tell me that what i have become is a ridiculous excuse of a human and perhaps if i can not take your world of fairytales seriously i should vacate...? So here i sit with a perhaps rhetorical question in my mind yet i want answers , i want you to tell me what the fuck to do because i have not the confidence to make such a decision ...do i stay and hide everything continue to smile and make the darkness nothing but an appearance or do i let out everything i need to push everyone away, hurt you and myself in order to have a real degree of satisfaction...???

constantly surrounded by your unwanted hatrid for me...like the virgin i am tortured with the smell and desire of sex hung infront of me ... i want it , i want you , yet i can not have you. for you do not exist and i am not pretty. my world pointless. the result of my yearning , pain , the result of my pain , harm , the result of my harm , pain , get a hint of the pattern? if you existed and if i was not surrounded by hatrid would i be better? would everything be okay? or is it all just a mythical excuse for reality? like a number i am insignificant a prototype for your hysterical surreal world...yet i am so full of imperfections that i would only create disorder and chaos within your beautiful world. perhaps armed with a paper bag i shall be accepted and looked up to only because they cannot see me..then it rains and my bag weakens and my soul is frightend for when that bag finally breaks i shall be beaten and banished from society for i am not you and i can never be you. i am the insignificant one i am the broken prototype i am the one you fear yet like you i also hate myself....if only my identity spilled out when the blood does then life could be better...with each cut i can modify myself i could recreate myself into you. what a beautiful thing to be you to be perfect in every way yet so fuked up and tomented but that just adds to my like for you, each of your insecurities moulds the perfect person you are , i told you once and you failed to see that you and only you is the only one who can change everything i would dote on your every desire just to be accepted by you and to feel wanted although inside i will know that i am not...i am weak and useless but in an attempt to change that i shall stop breathing and let the purple consume me..

constantly surrounded by your unwanted hatrid for me...like the virgin i am tortured with the smell and desire of sex hung infront of me ... i want it , i want you , yet i can not have you. for you do not exist and i am not pretty. my world pointless. the result of my yearning , pain , the result of my pain , harm , the result of my harm , pain , get a hint of the pattern? if you existed and if i was not surrounded by hatrid would i be better? would everything be okay? or is it all just a mythical excuse for reality? like a number i am insignificant a prototype for your hysterical surreal world...yet i am so full of imperfections that i would only create disorder and chaos within your beautiful world. perhaps armed with a paper bag i shall be accepted and looked up to only because they cannot see me..then it rains and my bag weakens and my soul is frightend for when that bag finally breaks i shall be beaten and banished from society for i am not you and i can never be you. i am the insignificant one i am the broken prototype i am the one you fear yet like you i also hate myself....if only my identity spilled out when the blood does then life could be better...with each cut i can modify myself i could recreate myself into you. what a beautiful thing to be you to be perfect in every way yet so fuked up and tomented but that just adds to my like for you, each of your insecurities moulds the perfect person you are , i told you once and you failed to see that you and only you is the only one who can change everything i would dote on your every desire just to be accepted by you and to feel wanted although inside i will know that i am not...i am weak and useless but in an attempt to change that i shall stop breathing and let the purple consume me..

i will continue to save my diary for vampire freaks. if by some random choice you wish to read my insanity i am lightless-mind once again.