Unreal

I haven't been writing in a while. I mean, days. Days that seem like forever. It's like I've dried up.

And I miss you. 

That's the only thing that goes through my mind right now. That, and

(I wanna die. I really miss you.)

how pathetic some people are when their heart is broken.

I've disconnected.

I hate that the only time I can write is when my gut is cut open and bleeding.

Please make it stop.

I'd rather not write than to stay alone.

Your eyes, your smile, your skin. All this will fade away and,

I can't stand it.

I wish you would read between the lines.

I wish you had those kind of feelings for me.

But you don't. 

And all I can think about is how fucking unreal my life is, that I go from talking to you everyday to being a complete stranger. I bet you would have a hard time recognizing me, have you even met me ?

Oh please.

And how I second guess everything I say, and how the only way I can be sincere is by letting it all slip.

please...

That's it.

Vomir sa vie

Parce qu'on ne la veut plus. Parce que ça fait trop mal. Parce qu'on refuse. Parce que.

Mon estomac se tord et rien ne remonte. Que du dégoût, de la douleur, de l'acide.

Autodafé

Les mots qui me brûlent les yeux au passage, je ne les laisse plus sortir. Ils cognent dans mon ventre, grimpent dans mes poumons, ils ragent. C'est la fois de trop. Celle qui fait tanguer toutes les autres, chavirer le bateau. J'ai pris tout ce que j'avais de précieux et je l'ai détruit.


Cette nuit, je m'ai tué. J'ai rêvé que le ciel brûlait.