Feb. 11, 2003 - 9:20 p.m.
Wired on caffeine and stress filled insomnia, my brain is buzzing with chaos. My jaw aches, as teeth clenched, ideas fall down the same ravine repeatedly. I want more.
It's cheap and distracting: this cold wind in the night that targets my sanity. I have to keep in mind that despite a life of change, pain remains the same.
This is just fate, flexing its muscles, using me as a puppet in a poorly planned entertainment.
I want injury. I crave the ache. I need some proof that I still live, and the pinch just doesn't cut it anymore. I want to be hurt in this moment, for all the moments I escaped pain. But the wind has yet to rape my sanity completely.
I beg with eyes dry, unable to shed tears. If I start crying now, I'll soon be nothing more than dust.
These hands hold on so tightly, the exertion makes them cramp. I'm so tired of explaining, but what else is left?
