Miseryhead.

I drank last night to kill the sorrow,
I drank last night to ease the pain...
I drank last night and wound up sick,
I went to bed a human stain.

Oh, how funny life is. I haven't trashed myself in a year...and suddenly, it seems the only thing to do when the nightmares creep back into my skull and force me to curl inwards like melting plastic. Of course, a close friend was having a disgustingly rough night, and I called him so I could do some consolation...but that sort of stuff doesn't work well when you're fifty miles away and more than a little hammered. I'm sorry, Poison Girl, for not being able to help out in the ways I wanted to. I'm sorry for not being able to make it better.

At the moment, I'm pondering life. What else is there for me to do? I'm coming down off of an incredibly harsh, scary, and disrupting bout with depression. I'm sick of everything, but I'll do nothing to change anything. That's the bloody crux. Someone slap me back into reality. God knows I've put my friends through something like hell this week. Don't lie, my dolls, I did. You all know it. I'm sorry. I'll get better soon...I promise. There's only one other person I need to hear from in order for this machine to get fixed; it doesn't look like I'll be getting that transmission anytime soon, though, so for the time being...we'll all wait. We'll all wait, we'll all dance, and we'll all love one another. I hope.

"...'To be' is all that she desired.

But they didn't love you in our time...
Nobody wants you in your life.
Bleed and they'll serve you, alive."