|
[23 Nov 2005|09:55pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 lonely |
] |
I confess that I am holding a gun. I can smell the oil held within, and I have tasted the metal three times already. I have cleaned it more than once, and I keep fighting myself not to swallow the barrel and squeeze at the same time. I confess that today was the worst day fucking ever. I confess that I love you, dear, I just need to get it all over with. You are killing me, and I am killing me, and I just want to sleep for a very long time, with no care as to waking up.....
|
|