"... stinging God now."
2010-01-29, 11:35 p.m.

I'm sick-- so fucking gutterally sick and there's no remorse. Just a flavorless slab of steel like ice over hurt and panic. I don't trust the dream, but I'm awake. And lost in a fork that Dante couldn't have predicted.

So why is it I do not fall? Why can't I weep like I imagined I would? Why does it feel like it disrespects his memory to hurt?

"Let me go I'll be fine--
Frozen here in time--
Sick of being alive--"
-Jonathan Davis

Alone: The deepest pain I feel is being too broken to eulogize.

--I miss you--

Do nothing

Repitition of HatredLoveless AvenueBurn Out (and) Fade Away