Death needs but time.

This is an excerpt from a journal I kept a few years ago:

It's been some time, so it would appear,
Since, last, the Terrible Sadness was here.
The Black Knight Of Sorrow stalks me like prey,
Dread and woe cometh this way.
Like a seed that he patiently sows,
death needs but time, for in me it grows.

Something so Pitiful.

This is an excerpt from a journal I kept a few years ago:

What is it in you that draws me in? When I'm near you it feels like going home. You make me want to run away with you; to move to Spain, stay up all night and talk about our lives. There have been all too few people in my life that made me feel normal; that made me feel at peace with myself, my flaws, my insecrities, my struggle with "growing up". You helped me realize that in-fact there is something beautiful and reverent about imperfection.

I was always afraid of falling for you. I was afraid of you getting wounded when I self-destruct. I guess I knew that the blast radius would mame everyone around me. It always did. I think I learned this from mother.

Everyone I love would feel the impact. Not intentionally, of course, but when I would self destruct I did it huge. Like a ballet. Simply spell-binding. A display of utterly amazing self loathing and masochism. It's hard to look away from something so pitiful.

the end

this is my final fit. my fianal belly ache. by the end of the day I will be dead, by my own will. everyone keeps telling me to try harder. get better by trying harder. if I could get better by trying harder i would have done it. that is why i never saught help before. because I thought it was a matter of trying harder. this is no ones fault. it's just the way it goes. i'm sorry for the pain i will cause. I know it seems selfish. I'm sorry for the pain i've brought on all of you. but i'll bother you no more.

I'll never be happy. I'll never get it together. I'll always be that invariable fuck up. it's time for me to wise up.