So she says to me, "I don't see what harm can come from it." Well stated, I think. What harm can come from it? No one is losing an appendage. There are not casualties. Children in third world countries are not starving because of it. It's not as if it is murder and so I think to myself, "What harm can come from it?"

You're shitting on my heart, that's all. It kind of smells and I'm generally not very comfortable with feces dangling from the place where I store all of my emotions. Perhaps I'm just being silly as my reflection upon the subject has brought me to the conclusion that it's really only a matter of hygeine when I drop all pretences and think of it with a level mind. I guess it's nothing I'm not used to. You're probably right. I'm taking things too seriously. My heart has been getting shit on as far back as I can remember. Why should things change now? I should be used to people not caring what I feel. It happens on a daily basis. It's great! This is what I've always dreamed of!

So I think I think too much. Sadly, this is the happiest I've ever been. I guess that's why I'm so emotionally volatile as of late. "What goes up must come down," and I've always been one to brace myself for how hard I fall. My falls have been minor and I really shouldn't complain, but I wouldn't be me if didn't. I'm hoping to hold on until I die this time. You know? Make it a really good fall.

It's really sad thinking you had one thing and then realizing you don't know what you have. I got too comfortable. The only way to live life is with one eye open while you sleep, clutching a knife and just waiting for the bastard to come into the room so you can slit his throat and call it self-defense. I don't know what I was thinking letting go of my paranoia--it's my only real friend. The only one that stays up with me and tells me I'm not crazy and that it is all really happening.

Where to go from this point? Alone again.

Let's build an armor of your flesh and bury you so deep in it that no one can ever find the real you again.

I think she reads enough of you so that she can feel like she knows you. She skims you like an uninteresting magazine, then lines the bird cage with your pages.

I don't want to want you. It only makes me sad.

I don't want to want anything. It only makes me sad.

Give me strength.

So I let you into my head and now I want you out. You can't stay here, it's not healthy.

Confide in no one. They only want your trust so that they can turn around and give someone else theirs.

Make me the criminal when all I want to do is love you.

You were dangerously close to something you will never talk to me about, but it's o.k. You have so many people that can pat your hand and tell you it's o.k. You don't need me. You have no responsibility to me. At least that's what I hear when I close my eyes and listen really closely.