(no subject)
(I have to start expressing myself more and more and more. Otherwise I'm going to go mad, or kill myself on purpose or accidentally. Not being suicidal doesn't mean a damn thing when you're acting out in ways that can get you killed instead.)
When your life is nothing but a quilt of horrors, is there a point in explaining one square? Or a hole in the pattern, the place where the sewing machine quit working when it realized you'd unravel the thread faster than it could keep up. There was a moment when I considered patching it by hand, stitch by shaky stitch, but again I dropped the needle. Gave myself a puncture wound instead.
When your life is nothing but a quilt of horrors, is there a point in explaining one square? Or a hole in the pattern, the place where the sewing machine quit working when it realized you'd unravel the thread faster than it could keep up. There was a moment when I considered patching it by hand, stitch by shaky stitch, but again I dropped the needle. Gave myself a puncture wound instead.