~The real thing.

(1987)

Nobody understands. I guess that's cause I can't explain it. It's not depression, it's despair. It's not confusion, it's frustration. I like the physical pain of cutting myself. It's tangible. It's pain derived from an action that's supposed to cause pain, as opposed to life, which shouldn't be painful but it is. I like the sight of my own blood. I like blood, period. Call it a fetish, call it what you will, but it's plain and simple - I just like it. It's so late, 4:00 in the morning. I have to get up early tomorrow, but I can't sleep. The urge to destroy is upon me, along with the urge to crawl into a hole. I'm feeling insane, or like I could go insane in an instant.