30.3.2000

Does it matter? Does it matter what I did, does it matter what I do...

I can't go to sleep, not yet, so I read his poems. I had already been too miserable today, what would it matter if I just wanted to die once again. I read the poems, what does it matter. No, I didn't like all of them.

One stuck my eye:
"Of course, there's one who isn't here:
The sickly crying child, who went home early.
She carved lines in her arms
In painful dark.
Their songs brought on her death."

How would you know. But of course, you don't. Hallucinating, again. No one's lived this life but me.

What am I talking about. (It's not even a question anymore.)

I forget. I keep forgetting. I keep forgetting. Afterwards everything's a haze, deep blue sea. I'm nothing in it.
I keep forgetting how much I crave for it. Disappear. Whatever.

She e-mailed me. I tried to answer. I ended up deleting, all that I could think of answering was 'I don't have a guestbook'. I don't have a guestbook. I have nothing. Hey, I told you it wasn't like that. You didn't believe, thought you were like me.
I'm not you. I'm not like you. That's why you don't understand.

(Oh, fuck off already!)

Too tired, you say. Too tired to think properly, only emotions left. Late at night. Tomorrow I will delete this, perhaps.

I want everything sometimes. I want it all, happiness. "God, what was happiness again? What does it feel like?"
Hey, you, answer my questions.
I'm not you. Believe, already. I don't want you.

Talking to myself again?

I think I forget because I have to.