8 November 2007
39. The sky was blond like her, it was day to take the child out back and shoot it. i should have beried all my dead up in her cemetery head. She had dirty word witchcraft. i was in the deep end of her skin. Then, it seemed like a one car wreck. But i knew it was a horrid tragedy. Ways to make the tiny satisfaction disapear. Blow out the candels on all my frankenstiens at least my death wish will come true. You will taste like valentine's. we cry. You're like a birthday - i should have picked the photograpf it lasted longer then you.
We'll paint the future black - if it needs any colour. My death sentence is a story. Who'll be digging when you finally let me die?
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