Dtergent
Bluelight Crew
it was about four in the morning awhile ago, i just got home. i was exhausted. my buzz had worn off, and though usually at that time i'd have a clear, sober mind, my thoughts were all muddled. it was cold and i was sad.
so i sat down and started crying.
seems like i remembered everything bad that had ever happened to me. i didn't know i still had such bitterness for everything.
back to the day when my parents were fighting, and i was watching them throught my window. he pushed her out of the gate and onto the street, and i ran downstairs, with no time to grab my shoes. i ran after her as she walked aimlessly, and when i caught up with her she clung to me. she was gripping my shoulders and sobbing. and i held her and stood in the middle of the street at twelve midnight, barefoot and angry.
and i remembered every single hurt and pain, and every mean thing anyone ever told me.
i remembered how i used to cut my own flesh, and i watched the blood trickle down my arm without any regret.
i cried.
maybe i'm a happy person, maybe i just pretend to be one sometimes. or maybe it's just i was remembering the rocky pathway i took to happiness.
fuck.
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he not busy being born is busy dying.
[This message has been edited by Dtergent (edited 29 May 2000).]
so i sat down and started crying.
seems like i remembered everything bad that had ever happened to me. i didn't know i still had such bitterness for everything.
back to the day when my parents were fighting, and i was watching them throught my window. he pushed her out of the gate and onto the street, and i ran downstairs, with no time to grab my shoes. i ran after her as she walked aimlessly, and when i caught up with her she clung to me. she was gripping my shoulders and sobbing. and i held her and stood in the middle of the street at twelve midnight, barefoot and angry.
and i remembered every single hurt and pain, and every mean thing anyone ever told me.
i remembered how i used to cut my own flesh, and i watched the blood trickle down my arm without any regret.
i cried.
maybe i'm a happy person, maybe i just pretend to be one sometimes. or maybe it's just i was remembering the rocky pathway i took to happiness.
fuck.
------------------
he not busy being born is busy dying.
[This message has been edited by Dtergent (edited 29 May 2000).]