winterish- the weekish Kate came back: god I was angry

I cant write anymore lately- I've said it before- its hard when you've gotten used to shutting hurt out- But right now, it hurts so damn bad, Triggers: Marilyn Manson, Drunk last 3 nights, Kate's caught and I can fucking taste it- What now?- Im trying to be a back bone- or fall back- whatever the fuck you want to call it- But to be honest, I want it just as bad- I only write like this now- and I guess I dont have to explain what this is, because, well, you can see it- and reading this... you wouldnt even understand- Im fucking dead- Im empty- This feeling: like anger is nuetral, high is happy, and dead with crimson dead thoughts- like reflection is real and theres nothing behind it- Happy is fucking estatic- beautiful- clouds and stars under me- everything else is dead so it doesnt fucking matter- I was real when it was in me- Im alive now-