My day

I went to the reinactment with Lily today. I had to get out of this house and I thought about her. She managed to cheer me up and make me feel much better which is more than I can say for some people.

We hung out with Nick and Emily. I told ugly guys they were...well, ugly. I avoided the sunlight as much as possible and felt like a DIVA in my big scene kid shades. I bought a giant jawbreaker sucker and ate half of it. Then we went back to Lily's and hung out. I convinced her to text Nick, this guy she met at the Hamilton Prom. Now we have a double date for friday. Her and Nick, me and Nick's friend James. Lily says he's cute, but I have my doubts. Whatever. I'l lmanage so I can make Lily happy.


She told me i was hot. ^^ That made me feel good.



I still haven't looked at them yet. This secret is mine alone and I'm almost afraid that I can't bare it by myself. Its Ugly and its all my fault.

They say that human touch is the best cure for tears. But what happens why there's no one around to hold your hand? Are you doomed to cry forever? Cold, bleeding, and alone, lying on your bedroom floor, wishing for it all to just stop. You can't feel your own heartbeat but you know you're still alive because you still hurt.

You long for something to happen. Something to change, not realizing that everything already has. All the things that were supposed to make you feel good have let you down, so what have you got left?

A small soul and a silver kiss is all that remains now. A single song plays over and over in your head. The same lines repeating. The song doesn't even work for your situation because you've never had a truly great love, but you sing it anyway in that broken little voice of yours. Over and over. It won't stop.

Your memories make you sick, but you can't help but think about them because they are the only thing that used to make you happy. You ask yourself how this all transpired. Why you let yourself get this far off track. How you've managed to lose yourself completely even though the path ahead is crystal clear.

You feel sick, but you don't allow yourself to throw up. No. That could possibly save your life, and you don't want that. You welcome death. You await it eagarly. But it never comes. You know how to speed up the process, but the knife is too far away and you're finally comfortable on the floor.

You lay there, watching the flashing lights on the ceiling and wondering if you'll ever wake up. The answer is no. You never will. And this is the bad kind of eternal slumber.