February 22, 2000: Voluntary cuts into fresh flesh
I don’t hate the world I have chosen to live in—I only wish for the higher powers to make it easier to digest. I’m being abused and yet no one admits it’s. Wait! They know it exists but refuse to do anything about it…they’ve chosen instead to participate. Blood up my nose, stomach sickened by the smell—heart empty, eyes barely open to see. I’m recognized by the tattoos on my leg…here he lies, he who tried but not hard enough. Who’s next in line? Welcome to radio!