free writes.

Two letters I found written by myself, to myself from a while back:

ONE:

Not knowing what to feel or say. Very much stuck in my head, my brain is not even rattling. Im stuck with thoughts tied to no emotion; something foreign to me. For on the most part, I am an emotional wreck...over-flowed. I don't know what I'll do or feel, I just know Im very confused, I feel stuck. Perhaps, If I attempt to feel the pain Im due for, It will work. When I say feel, I really mean feel. Right now nothings working...

Sharp cuts maybe, bruises? Yes. That won't be as obvious to people. I don't know. Do I want to re-enter my late-place of desperation for stitched red rips?

No Idea, on one hand I crave it, and on the other hand I have a lust for a clean life. 

Undecided. Sure I am, Sure I am. 

TWO:

Some time has passed, sitting on my floor-bed. Just saged, and sprinkled my room. The fuck did I do that for? A touch of released insanity for old sake? Or maybe something more dangerous; An interesting sequel. Dose of further addiction. 

Confusing, awkward, will it be? Who knows...Who cares. I live for the comfort (fake or not) of his smothering shoulders. 

PURE poison. No joke. Beautiful it may be, but one wrong turn equals deadly. Like Harry Potter; Station 4 3/4's...No one can see but it's not make believe. 

Venting? Yeah. Normal? Sure. Questionable? No doubt. But who is to question? No one. 

They are too busy being blinded by their agenda. So what is their hidden one? Just as dense as I think? Hope not. 

I'd like to tap in, explore the disgusting.