i want to slit my wrists.

but i wont.
so lets not entertain that thought.
and keep typing until it goes away.
because if i wasn't writing this, i'd be running a razor blade across my wrists. and i'd do it the proper way. lengthways, where you open your veins up, and just bleed out. i guess you're wondering if that hurts? i've tried it before, it's like the strength is draining out of your body. it feels like dying. and in a way its beautiful. because the more you bleed, the less you feel, and you transcend into euphoria.

the last time i tried that though i bottled it, and ended up screaming the house down in the middle of the night. psych ward taught me one thing. if i ever slit my wrists again, don't scream for help. "help" is a subjective word. you think you're helping me by making me talk about being raped. i beg to disagree. that just makes me angry. and when i get angry i want to stick a knife in you. i want you to hurt like i do. if you want to know how i feel,stab yourself through your fucking heart. but not so much that it will kill you. stab yourself so that you'll die slowly. over the course of a lifetime.

some ways it seems that life is not LIVING, its an extended DYING. yeah there are lucid moments, but the pain, the epic all consuming, wretched sadness, is worse than death.

i do not want to remember.
i want to MURDER you.
for taking my life from me.
i wish you were alive, just so i could kill you. i'd make you scream. for every little girl you ever touched i would BURN you. i would BLISTER you. i'd make you live off your own fucking flesh or starve to death. what a pretty way you'd die.. eating your own liver..

i'd laugh. like you laughed when you stuck your fingers inside me and dug your nails into me. oh, and when i screamed in pain and you beat me back to senselessness. and i'd wake up with your cum mixed in my blood.

remember when you made me suck your cock whilst you ripped the hair from my head? i do. my nerves like fucking electric, scalp bleeding. raw. HELPLESS.

i wish you were alive, so i could mutilate you.  if you think i'm sick, then my congratulations, you created me- this monster who wants to kill. but unlike you i can restrain it. i can bottle every impulse, my own toxicity. store it up. wherever souls go after death, you'll be their. and so will i.

can't fucking wait.