Hate 

Hate 

I hate you, and I hate being alive. I hate that you make me hate being alive. I hate everything about you. I hate how you make me feel. I hate that you are gone. I hate your smile. I hate your friends. I hate that I can not make you happy anymore. I hate your front of disinterest. I hate your reserved demeanor. I hate that I am not over you. I hate your happiness. I hate that I doubt that you are really happy but will never ask. I hate that it has been a month without speaking. I hate being weak. I hate you for making me feel weak. FUCK YOU. 

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To-do list

To-do list

My to-do list spans 90 miles long, but I only have two things I regard with urgency: fucking and dying. Can I kill two birds with one stone? Slit my throat while I ride. Make me cum in a bath of my own blood. Fuck me raw while I bleed out. Death is on the forefront, but I’m smiling as this pretty pink pussy is full. 

Fuck the train 

Fuck the train 

I sat on the train tracks & cried & smoked a cigarette. The train was not coming, but I was sad I was even there. 

I hate the train. I’m afraid of the train. I’m mad every time it comes. I wonder if I can make it in time to die. Then I wonder if I want to make it in time to die. 

Really, I don’t hate the train because it can kill me. Or because I want to it kill me. (Do I?) I hate the train because it makes me question myself. 

I take pride in my self awareness. Now a fucking mode of mass transportation has me questioning whether I’m ready to take the plunge or not.

I hope I dont live too long.