March 02, 2012
7:29 a.m. You don't even notice the fresh engravings on the inside of my left ankle. I crave the control and relish in the chaos. You hate me and so do I; at least we can agree on that. We always end up going back to the same old ways on a random, different day. I called my mom this morning, too. The dial tone told me good morning instead.
4:13 p.m. I heard a nursery rhyme that reminded me of hyper-focusing on Barney the purple dinosaur when they would throw the nice China dishes at each other and blame Mercury's retrograde and my conception for their drug addiction and empty refrigerator. I got beat all over my back and legs with a leather belt emblemed with silver quarters for making chocolate Jell-O and forgetting to ask permission to use the bathroom. I'm sorry, dad.
8:30 p.m. Where are those therapists? I need someone... anyone. You're too busy getting off to the next whore on the front page and smoking whatever you really load into that pipe. I dream of being a star and shining brightly for all to see, safely above this twisted universe that people call 'home'. What is a home and how do I find mine? Barbed wire fences and rat poison underneath the porch of a wood-burning chimney house two miles from the nearest neighbor sounds right for me.
YOU ARE READING
The Continued Works of "I Loved You"
Short StoryWritten in diary format, this is the raw revelations of self discovery. With or without triumph.
