Mood: sdj'fljskfhfs Just when I began to feel a bit of tenderness in this deconstructed muscle in my chest, towards the thought of your very being... and then you open your mouth, and it makes it all dirty. Back to square 1. That's what I say. Don't ever open your mouth, and things will be just perfect. And you know, I'm needing to vent a little bit about one thing in particular. The scoundrel. Mr. Chipaway flakey fuck. I sense his dislike for me. He senses it back. Him and his frail thing of a cocksucking sibbling. I just totally got this flash of me being incriminated somewhere in the near future over something I've said or done, and this journal was accessed from my laptop that would be confiscated for evidence. And all of this gets back to said disliked person. That'd be awkward. But amusing. Except for the whole incarseration thing. I don't know. I've been trying to create trigger words that help snap me out of the relentless grip of shit. I felt a feeling today that I haven't felt in a long time. I'm glad I'm trained to appreciate those moments because they are few and far between. I understand happiness isn't a constant, but I just wish my intervals were a little bit lengthier. I have the strange sensation that my leg is on fire.
Butterpops mama callin'...
6:28 p.m.//02.28.07
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