SATURDAY, AUGUST 24^th, 2020

[1512] sometimes i wish suicide was real, to look up to the sky and see blood, to look down and see guts and suicide. i sometimes also wish light never existed and that everyone dies. gore is salvation.

[1533] sometimes i wake up and i see a hellhound curled up by my bed, sleeping so peacefully you could never guess what he was, his eyes gleam with terror the moment he wakes up but i have never felt fear. he exhales smoke and murder, i think he might be me, hellhound??

[1542] i know a boy, he wants to make out with my brain and he became blood brothers with the moon, and i am not fearless of the moonlight he bleeds but he doesn't say my name nearly as much as i say his. he thinks i'm dismally beautiful, he called me a skywalker once, and he doesn't find me crazy.

[1550] i wanted to see beauty in it, i was jealous of the majority that looked up and saw hope and comfort and grace, not decay on ice. i trained myself to detach from delirium and think of beauty and light, "it won't hurt me if i don't look up." i was miserable. i can't help but reminisce on the first lone moments i have after that, the climax of cutting myself to bleed the moonlight out before it kills me, purified, at last.