I wish there was a way I could tell the truth without upsetting you. I wish I could confess just how dark my thoughts can get, that I have planned suicides too innumerable to keep count of, that I carry a razor everywhere with me (packing checks now go: passport, ticket, money, razor), that there are times when I feel envious of people who’ve died. Always, given the choice, I would choose non-existence.

Every now and then I think I’m getting better; of course, I’m fooling myself. I wish I could tell you everything and that it wouldn’t play on your mind, worry you, burden or bore you.

But I can’t. My brain alone gets eaten.



2 thoughts on “nutso

  1. does it make you feel better to know I feel the same, and I literally have taken the same photo as you have posted here? I’ll post it on my wall just so you can see 🙂


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