There are reasons I never read my own entries. They sit, after I've written them, buried.

So why tonight did I rip myself open again?

I am so angry at her--for being so damn good but not good enough.

I would eat my own heart for sleep.

I would eat her heart for forgetfulness.

""You'll see," she said, absently plugging the light back in, "there are a million ways to kill off the soft parts of yourself."" Darcey Steinke

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