2001-03-23 - 01:25 a.m.
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It's late and I'm at the easy everything again.
I went out with a couple of friends. Towards the end of the night, we were sitting in a bar, reciting meaningless stories. One guy started telling about this man who jumped in front of a train. . .jokes were made. . .of botched suicides. . .of the resulting mangle of living bodies. . .that they must be happy now. . .I wish it were that simple. . .now I crave to cut. . .to cry for the pain. . . for the sadness. . .and maybe for my friends who understand me as a stressed troll, and not the person I am. But then what am I. Yes I want to be dead. Yes I don't have the energy, courage, or the heart. Yes I cut. Yes I self harm. Yes I bing. Yes I throw up. But what am I?
