| I have died.
Hung myself, shot my brains out the side of my head, swalled pills until my stomach choroded away. Drowned myself until my lungs burst without oygen, weeped as I took a long razor and slid it up my arm.
Whatever you prefer, I have died.
The end.
1991-2005.
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| For privacy, there shall be no such novel postings. I have already received hate mail, and love mail from people on lj. Xanga will resort back into my actual journal, for you people who seem to enjoy the daily musings of a fourteen year old fan girl, who listens to way too much emo and progressive, and should just stop pretending to be a writer.
......I'm sorry. But there is no going back.
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| I am writing a novelette, as of now.
I shall post up portions of it, in due time.
Unless of course, my prose revoult you to the point that you wish to throw yourself against the wall until your teeth break and fall out, and your organs crush into nothing but goo. (That is likely.)
So, this xanga will be made into one for my writings as will my lj. Perhaps this will revert to a diary again, or I'll make a new one. |
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| You are everything and nothing, inside that little shell. And remembering trivial things of childhood long since passed, sets a bittersweet brush on flame inside your heart. |
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| Sometimes, it saddens me how detached I am from...
everything. |
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