I need to get rid of some stuff, alright? I've been ignoring art, music, and writing and it's shit because I need those things to survive. I feel like a fucking slut. With every thing that has happened to me. I'd wish I could've died all those times I was almost run over by a lady digging in her purse, or a driver not paying attention to the red lights. I wish all those times we ran into deer or went into the ditch that i was a fatality and everyone else got out without a scratch. i remmeber sliding on the ice with our huge truck and almost tipping over, trying to get us out of the ditch. my father made my brother and i go to school. as i got there i sat in my classroom and cried. people thought i was lying.
sorry james, bear, and everyone else. hopefully i can kill myself this time. but thats probably not going to happen. too bad i cant sleep . too bad im going to worry myself to death. too bad no one wants to fucking help me out. instead they try n scare and bullshit me and then get upset when i yell at them to be real.
YOU ARE READING
The Secret Book of Unsaid Things
Non-FictionHave you ever wanted to scream and cry till you couldn't feel your throat, till tears wouldn't come out, till everything went away? Here is your chance. Everything will remain anonymous unless you don't want it to be. Message me what you want to say...
