14
Letters? Annoying, but I'll take them over being naked any day.
Finally finished my first painting since I died. Dedicated to the fuckers in charge of curses. Pretty crappy, but I've seen worse postmortem work. I'll trade it for cigarettes, if anyone wants it. Or more paint.
Completely losing it. Stared at the wall all day and it fucking moved. I hate those pictures. It's always the same ones--you'd think crazy would have some variety, right? And the--it keeps happening over and over and over, and I thought I was still there. I've got these faces burned on my eyelids. Writing it didn't help today, either. Instead of "forgive me"?
Dear Mom, Dad, Athena, and World,
Forgive me.
Never sorry enough,
Henry
Two hundred seventy-eight times. What a waste. I ran out of cigarettes somewhere after two hundred. There was blood everywhere, and that blond woman and Athena turning into one another while Athena's brains were all over the dash. Fuck. It's--there's this projector in my mind, and it never fucking stops. I've been talking to people on the net to keep it quiet. It helps, focusing on that. Tiring. Hurts--I'm either bleeding or burning. I need to know what's real. Which one happened. It matters, even though it won't bring them back. I need to know.
Wish Olive was here.
[ooc: Pretend the linked image is... y'know. Not that full of fail, and oil painted instead of slammed out in Photoshop. Please?]
Finally finished my first painting since I died. Dedicated to the fuckers in charge of curses. Pretty crappy, but I've seen worse postmortem work. I'll trade it for cigarettes, if anyone wants it. Or more paint.
Completely losing it. Stared at the wall all day and it fucking moved. I hate those pictures. It's always the same ones--you'd think crazy would have some variety, right? And the--it keeps happening over and over and over, and I thought I was still there. I've got these faces burned on my eyelids. Writing it didn't help today, either. Instead of "forgive me"?
Dear Mom, Dad, Athena, and World,
Forgive me.
Never sorry enough,
Henry
Two hundred seventy-eight times. What a waste. I ran out of cigarettes somewhere after two hundred. There was blood everywhere, and that blond woman and Athena turning into one another while Athena's brains were all over the dash. Fuck. It's--there's this projector in my mind, and it never fucking stops. I've been talking to people on the net to keep it quiet. It helps, focusing on that. Tiring. Hurts--I'm either bleeding or burning. I need to know what's real. Which one happened. It matters, even though it won't bring them back. I need to know.
Wish Olive was here.
[ooc: Pretend the linked image is... y'know. Not that full of fail, and oil painted instead of slammed out in Photoshop. Please?]