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Wonderfully empty

2002-01-12 - 4:42 p.m.

Listening to gangstas chanting about player hating niggas getting shot and raped, I look at the knife in my hands. The blade is five inches, wickedly serrated, smooth with a slightly chipped point. On the side of the grip is an etched relief of deer grazing.

Switching to Placebo, I keep turning the thing over as if to find something. How many people choose this over pills, what sort of technique do they use, if they'll cut too deep someday and I have to bury someone else; intriguingly useless questions.

Stepping back from life, I see you and wonder what lays outside in a field 30 minutes away from me. The wind is bitter today, broken clouds the faint color of wet toilet paper. A perfect day indoors, sitting here, feeling wonderfully empty.

It's like a numb womb, stretching over and blanketing me.

It never lasts long, though. Something inside me or someone else comes to take me away. Why does it always have to pull me back? I want to stay. Your problems can wait.

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