Unadmirable me...
I'm.. not dead.. I.. I don't know what I was thinking.. except that maybe it wouldn't matter too much if it killed me (though it would be a bad mess in my other self's apartment..) but I opened the package that the older weirder Alphonse.. delivered for me..
...it's.. it's.. decorated with skulls and a black ribbon.. it didn't look like something that would kill me and I did think the morbidity and darkness of it suited me rather well and so I was almost more afraid of it, but..it didn't explode.... and now that I know what's inside I almost feel worse than I did not knowing... the inner turmoil that this has sent me into is dizzying..
...inside the bag was a bunch of razors and a note... the note almost more disturbing than
the razors.. It reads:
Your poetry fills me with a despair I have felt only once. You are the only one that knows what it's like to be dead on the inside.
~Your Secret Admirer
Wh-what? What? This has to be a joke... Somebody admires worthless, sad, mopey, annoying, tragically hopeless ME? I-I.. I don't understad how that could be... Who could it be? Nobody I know even actually likes me! And.. why would they give me razors? Do they want me to kill myself? How could they like me, then? Maybe this person really hates me and is using this to laugh at me before I die.. It's not funny! ;___; ..and I hope it's not true..\
I "know what it's like to be dead on the inside"... who else knows what it feels like to be dead on the inside? This person seems to really understand me.. maybe they don't actually want me dead... maybe they really understand... I-I.. nobody's ever understood me.. ;____; Not even I understand me... This makes me feel very odd.. my stomach hurts...
I'll be sitting with the daisies in the bathroom sorting my poetry some more if anybody needs me...........
...it's.. it's.. decorated with skulls and a black ribbon.. it didn't look like something that would kill me and I did think the morbidity and darkness of it suited me rather well and so I was almost more afraid of it, but..it didn't explode.... and now that I know what's inside I almost feel worse than I did not knowing... the inner turmoil that this has sent me into is dizzying..
...inside the bag was a bunch of razors and a note... the note almost more disturbing than
the razors.. It reads:
Your poetry fills me with a despair I have felt only once. You are the only one that knows what it's like to be dead on the inside.
~Your Secret Admirer
Wh-what? What? This has to be a joke... Somebody admires worthless, sad, mopey, annoying, tragically hopeless ME? I-I.. I don't understad how that could be... Who could it be? Nobody I know even actually likes me! And.. why would they give me razors? Do they want me to kill myself? How could they like me, then? Maybe this person really hates me and is using this to laugh at me before I die.. It's not funny! ;___; ..and I hope it's not true..\
I "know what it's like to be dead on the inside"... who else knows what it feels like to be dead on the inside? This person seems to really understand me.. maybe they don't actually want me dead... maybe they really understand... I-I.. nobody's ever understood me.. ;____; Not even I understand me... This makes me feel very odd.. my stomach hurts...
I'll be sitting with the daisies in the bathroom sorting my poetry some more if anybody needs me...........