a journal of pain

pain creeps in
as you are unawares
sleeping oh so soundly
in your tidy bed
the monster rears it's head
darkly striving,
darkly showing
none other then yourself
it's shadow on the wall
must now at least be your own
full of pain as red as blood
but not near so wholesome.

darkness within, darkness without, what ever does it matter? i can't care less if it does or doesn't, i suppose. why should i, really? nothing here matters anyway?

nothing really matters. all that will ever happen to me is pain and sorrow. no one believes. why should they? i'm a stupid stinking fat fool, that's what i am. hate myself hate myself hate myself. nothing is real here. it's all an illusion, an Alice-through-the-looking-glass maze of pain. why didn't i see that before? it's all false, all a maze, all a trap. i hate myself and it. why can't they see?

Maybe everyone's blind to how awful I am. I hate myself. Maybe they don't see the evil, vile darkness ozzing from my every pore. Or maybe they do and they just don't care. I wish I knew. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe all I need to do is remember that nothing matters, now or ever. Yes, maybe that's the thing to do. I think that might help. Nothing matters. It is all white and cold and numb. I am not me. I am not her. I am no one and nothing and that is all there is. Blank and cold and ice everywhere. 6/9/00

I suppose i should be glad they don't see me through this shell that runs around the world, thinking she is someone. HA! she's no one, and that's all she's ever been. no one and nothing. she is the fat creature that gibbers in the light, the thing that everyone turns from in deep disgust. only she cannot see it. only she does not know. and i shall have to teach her. Because none of her teachers are here now, to show her the lesson's of Pain that make her real, that are the only things that can cleanse her of the vileness that penetrates her to the very core of that rotten excuse for a soul. So I must do it. 11/7/00