^ (n a v i g a t e) ^
7:49 p.m., 2003-01-09
thinned down to greyscale, i sleep with a switchblade. i have no right to be the things i am, to mean the things i do, to say the things i've said.the slide and rush of gaining control gives me enough without the sorry ache of a poorly healed wound. seeing things for the first time gives me the need for enough. i want to cover up my rights and needs and pack them to be sent where i cannot go. where i can be happy. where i can live.
this subtle vibrato when you hear me speak is not deliberate.
every night i cut out a piece of me and leave it in a place i only hope to go.
