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A PATHETIC JOURNAL

I am sick of repression, especially where sexuality is concerned.

I first went through a phase where I associated my desire for love with desire for sex, and as of such, used sex to attempt to get what I wanted, which was love. My sexuality was then forced, because without it I had nothing.

Then I went through a phase where the simple idea of physical intimacy made me uneasy, nauseous even. People approaching me in that manner disgusted me. I wanted to hide from them, to protect myself. Repression of the body to protect the soul.

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world sick

"love, a few people I know always tell me you look so upset all the time, is everything alright? are you sad?"

no, but I am not happy either. and I am not concerned with happiness either way - only with being interesting. times with you are my leisurely escapes to far-off places : you are my istanbul, my tokyo, my mercury, my saturn. darling adonis, you are my dreams, the sleep which frees me, quietly, from my persona.

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en lambeaux

Comme si tu t’appliques avec une méticulosité sadique et probablement inconsciente, quoique, à gratter les croûtes et à rouvrir, une à une, des milliers de petites cicatrices en moi.

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Fuck I am so high right now

Vices, I am yours again. You are my glittering backness in the gloom. My shining darkness, my shimmering ghost.

I love these moments of intense reality. I could surround the world and feed it with love if I only knew how.

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i am about to die.

it is withering, i keep trying. stay, stay, i sigh, hold me longer, make me live, i cry. the only constant remaining is the road to awe. and maybe cigarettes.

va dormir, oublie, laisse le sommeil te liberer pour un peu de tes demons.

(...)

he just called me, crying, saying he'd never leave, telling me not to be afraid. telling me he was done feeling nothing all the time. but you should have seen his eyes earlier, like the spark had died behind them. i don't know anymore.

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from a floating life

tu vis dans un caveau, la tête pleine d'eau, absence de soucis, lobotomie.

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(:

i've been feeling better lately
i haven't smoked in a week-ish and i've been eating enough (though i haven't been eating as healthy as i would like) and sleeping enough, so... and i've been sober for 8 days (which sounds pathetic but is pretty good for me)

and school finishes soon, so that'll be one less thing to give me stress in my life
and i was having problems at work (we got robbed and it was partially my fault) but they found the culprit so it's all good

things are going well with the boyfriend

s000oooo, tell me one thing that's going well in your lives guys :D

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hell is other people.

it was agony to understand his beauty in a single glance. he whispered that he needed me, always, and i cried. i'd kill for that sentence to be true.

maybe for once, it was. i am blessed.

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kitty

i'm dreaming of the land of decay, let's pack our things and run away. crumbling together, my ninth life is running short.

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show up, grow up.

as you bind me up in ropes, i wonder, "will you need me, (always), the way you do now?"

has there been no meaning? i remember your drunk, (sorry) ass, how i fucked you. you didn't care so neither did i. it hurt so i made you hurt, i covered your mouth with cotton. you hurt so much and i liked it. revenge for making me feel weak, a small consolation (prize) from the universe for my uselessness and stupidity. but it felt (good) for once so i took it, selfish as always.

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420

i know ways to cut you so you'll never heal, i am shy and self-destructive, and i will bring you down with me. sometimes words get stuck in my throat, butterflies in a net. pin me down with needles, turn me into specimen. don't touch it, drop that - it's dead, diagnosed. a ghost, smoke, carbon memories burning my lungs. we are waking ashes, leftovers of was was once alight. i have burned out.

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^

ask me any question as a comment and i will answer honestly. absolutely anything. go.

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-

my body is covered with bites and bruises, my bed reeks of cum and beer.
what could be more perfect?

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une explication

(most of my french journals are letters to the ones i love, which i feel relevant to post here. i know this is not a francophone website - however, i use oasis in a documentary fashion, to see myself change as an individual, rather than a social outlet. while response is appreciated, it isn't my main goal. my goal is not, also, to seem more intelligent or sophisticated than i am because i speak another language, by the way - i despise pseudo-intellectuals.)

Mon cher,

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adolescent exorcism

i have lost track of my goal and it has made me weak. i have been stuffing myself like a pig. i am disgusting.

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