Past

It's amazing what re sparks flames to make my mind want to kind of write again. My flow has gone, but I'll give it a go. Where to begin, it's like opening a newly purchased school book and you don't want to wreck the pages by writing on them because they look so crisp and new. Then again, your so torn up with the devil that you just want to rip all the pages out. The pages that I have written in my book, make me feel like a complete fool. You said that you wouldn't tell then you fuck someone that makes a significant dent and that tests my mind. You promised that you would never hurt me. Maybe this was for last time, maybe it was just in the spare moment, maybe you wanted to test me because of what I told you that day, or maybe it was because you were just plain "fucking bored".

I smell like bleach and my dress is ruined. I remember hearing those words when I was sitting down, and I felt like my stomach was going to pay my tongue a little visit. I felt like I'd been shocked by a lightening bolt and stood up to attention. I'm confused about how as well. Didn't it ever come across you both. You've fuck everything up and I'm sick of falling into your contorted ropes. You have me too tied up, yet nothing has happened. What am I meant to say when I'm all choked up and your all okay?

This "blog" entry is shit, sorry, but I just had to tell someone.