The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight.
What the fuck am I doing?
That's what I want to know. I have little to no reason to be documenting what little life I have. I'm worthless.
That aside, I need something to do and this seems like a reasonable solution.
Edan Hall tripped me today on the way down the front steps of our school.
Bloodied my nose, made people point and laugh.
I want to rip his fucking throat out sometimes, most of the time in fact.
If I could I'd gut him and strew his remains all over downtown.
Stupid jock.
Anyway, my mother pulled me aside before I left for the cemetery tonight, told me she was worrying.
"You haven't been sleeping well, Benny," she said, frowning at me, having to crane her head upward slightly. My madre is a little on the short side.
I shrugged it off, shook my head.
I guess I've been having nightmares again. I talk in my sleep a lot, I just hope she didn't hear something I wouldn't want her to hear.
She doesn't need to know about the visits I take to the graveyard. She already thinks I'm too morbid and that I need to see a psychiatrist or something.
Someone called today from the Sunnycrest Institute, some little mental hospital about three hours away. She was thinking about sending me there.
Elena Clemente, you will send me nowhere.
I'm sixteen now, big niño en la casa, what can she do?
I'm taller than her.
I don't think I'm necessarily talking about slapping my mom around, she got enough of that from my dad but I could definitely make my presence known.
Even though I get so much shit from the people around here I don't want to leave.
What little memories I have of the bastard are here.
Benito.
That's what I want to know. I have little to no reason to be documenting what little life I have. I'm worthless.
That aside, I need something to do and this seems like a reasonable solution.
Edan Hall tripped me today on the way down the front steps of our school.
Bloodied my nose, made people point and laugh.
I want to rip his fucking throat out sometimes, most of the time in fact.
If I could I'd gut him and strew his remains all over downtown.
Stupid jock.
Anyway, my mother pulled me aside before I left for the cemetery tonight, told me she was worrying.
"You haven't been sleeping well, Benny," she said, frowning at me, having to crane her head upward slightly. My madre is a little on the short side.
I shrugged it off, shook my head.
I guess I've been having nightmares again. I talk in my sleep a lot, I just hope she didn't hear something I wouldn't want her to hear.
She doesn't need to know about the visits I take to the graveyard. She already thinks I'm too morbid and that I need to see a psychiatrist or something.
Someone called today from the Sunnycrest Institute, some little mental hospital about three hours away. She was thinking about sending me there.
Elena Clemente, you will send me nowhere.
I'm sixteen now, big niño en la casa, what can she do?
I'm taller than her.
I don't think I'm necessarily talking about slapping my mom around, she got enough of that from my dad but I could definitely make my presence known.
Even though I get so much shit from the people around here I don't want to leave.
What little memories I have of the bastard are here.
Benito.