messed up
<< 11:55 p.m. - Saturday, Feb. 01, 2003 >>
Streets smell like maple syrup and my own nauseating sadness. Couldn�t hide, couldn�t run, I didn�t know where I was and it was all my fault. I told her to leave me. �Just fucking go! Leave! I know where I am, I can walk home myself.� Liar. I said earlier that I can�t lie. Liar. I lie to keep people�s perceptions of me dirt free. With satisfaction I listen to Bitty say I am the kind of person who is straight edge and gets good grades. Not truth? False evidence? Yes I admit it. I have this wish for my peers to see my as quiet and empty. And I�ve achieved my goal so many times. I plan to surprise them with my depth and insight.

But if you really want to know who I am - If you�re the person who so commonly tells me that I�m secretive and closed off. Well then you are one who closes your eyes. I am nothing. Not secretive, not plotting, not even insightful. You see me in my original form and hope for more. Surely no one can be as flat and 1 dimensional as I. But truth be told, I make up mysteries to hide the fact that I really have none. I am just a girl that wishes she could explain why she�s so fucked up and so desolate. Hypochondriac me. I�m just another. Blank face in the hallway. Mouth singed and melancholy. Blue undertones.

I want something to hide. I want something that is mine and is unique. And I have only myself and pencils and paper. I could draw myself a million times and still see no resemblance. I want this to end.