Contents Under Pressure: (Please point away from self when opening)
It's been months, no doubt. And there's nothing to say that I haven't said before. This was created with my intent of ranting and then those that were curious could read, and it didn't mean shit else really, and now that my internet is down, I feel a void of not having a place to express everything, and believe me, there's been a lot of shit to express lately. This won't be long due to the whole internet shift thing at 4am, but I just wanted to take a quite minute to revive this journal, which feels so distant of a pretext afterthought, if such a thing exists. Besides, I know a few people who read this whenever it's updated, and I find it funny that whatever gets put it here will become a holy grail in terms of understanding why I've been acting the way I have or what it is that I won't say.
~You're searching for some saving grace, to pick you up and never drop you. That prince, who doesn't even have to be charming. The bastard in the mirror knows I'm too broken to ever reflect that image. You're holding my broken pieces and I'm cutting you, but that never seemed to be a burden to you anyway. Your blood is blinding my eyes and sickening a hunger inside that lusts for the informal exchange of semi-daunted charms and careless threats. Don't tell me what's in my fucking head unless you've been there. I find myself not sleeping at night because I'm writing, and they're all the letters that twist into one big mess I'm forced to clean up the next morning. I'm so sick of myself. Not really at the me that is, but at the me that isn't. Chew me up, get a taste, and spit me out, before you lose control of the pill in mouth and chemical blind-fuck in your brain~
~J.D.~