Virtually every time she walks past him, he trips her, or kicks her, or slaps her head or pinches her, and stares at her..
When he pulls her onto his lap (especially when she wears shorts or dresses) his hand rest on her crotch, his fingers poke and tickle her private place...under her panties.
The horror ends when he is sleeping.
The horror begins when he awakes..
The horror never stops
The horror fills her dreams
the horror moves her forward...
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It would be so easy to stop the mutiny in my head.
It would be so easy to spare others the constant confusion that surrounds me.
It would be so easy to slip away. Should I just drive until I reach the sea?
I am nothing but constant heartache for anyone who tries to help me, to love me. Nobody can truly love a person whose mind is splintered and fractured beyond repair.
My brain cannot be fixed.
It is permanently disfigured and hideous.
and I want to give all the praise and glory to my mother and "dad" who made fucking sure that I would be the pile of rancid trash that I am today.
Second hand goods...
Life is a bitch then you die.
Some sooner than others. But when I die, I am taking out 5 other "people/identities"....that will make me a serial killer.
How fucking twisted is that? A serial killer of my own mind.....
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