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30 January '98

i wonder what form i'm in today. when a lady is in this room, what does she look like. i think the person next door must be a man and that i need to improve my lowercase r's. no one cares about short lamps. i wonder who made that rip in the curtain. and who put the tape there. i thought i knew my father well enough to tell. so this is the story of nailpolish. and i'm going to buy her a star. someday when i actually have cash, you know. to be flying a helicpoter over me tonight. to make love under the starts. the story of blue nailpolish. what're we waiting for? library cards. the story of books. i knew she never loved me like she said she did. somewhere in here. and i knew we'd never stay together. the way she said we would. but i didn't know at the same time, right? right. the moon is my mime. and i am willingly blind tonight. that word looks like hers, no? look...willingly. heat. i don't think he's wearing pants. naked and can't close the door. close the door. close your eyes. once again. who do you talk about. hear's here's the story. i can't write differently. XXXX. okay. am i part evil with these ways? or am i doing it because they/her deserve it? or both? have a feeling i'll never figure it out.
"when you're lying here with me like this, do you ever forget that you don't love me anymore?" is there a straightforward answer to that. no, i don't forget. i feel. guilty for not loving you. but you should feel guilty for just the opposite. close your eyes. i touch your arm and shoulder sweetly and feel your scabs. i hope you cut for me, dear. i know you cry for me, dear. but you never fought for me. and you left "for me." there were so many ways. you picked the wrong one.

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