i'm not here, this isn't happening

well, well, well...i'm just sitting around being unstable, volatile. consumed by absence. i feel that abyss coming, like "The Nothing," passing onto the horizon like a jackhammer sound. i see it directly above me like high noon and there's nothing i can do. i can torture myself with these nose-picking hackneyed shit-brained words, i can pretend that people read them, and i can chuckle because i'm the Cool Girl at the Party who's just above it all, and pretty soon someone will have the courage to come over and ask me if i wanna go somewhere else.

instead i'm just writhing. i wish i could write a story or something to distract me. i've come to the point where it's easier to write than to not write; where i need this more than i need to keep it in. is that dangerous? will that digest me in the end, when it comes right down to integrity? my bloody heart is all over my sleeve and no, i do not have a strong, stoic, fire-breathing heart. you can practically see it through my chest: it's swollen and punctured, it's a weeping sore, it's a stinking nodule, fistula, hemmerhoid. it's the Blob. it's a rotten fruit.

a story. about someone else. not a girl, not even a human really. just some occurance that happened elsewhere that is, for once, NOT a projection of my tethered, shreaded soul. fuck!!! you're not supposed to do this on your blog, that's for sure...thank god its so microscopic, thank god no one sees. it's kinda like the movie "Glitter;" only mariah (pariah) truly, truly loves it. total masturbation.

i can hear my mom watching my copy of "Fame." i can't even see the goddamn screeen anymore. fuck this.