Oh how I wish you were here.

Har nästan lärt mig spela hela Wish you were here med Pink Floyd på gitarren. Det kallar jag för succé.
Jag önskar bara jag kunde må lite bättre.
Var tvungen att improvisera lite imorse, så fick ha en Pepsi-flaska fylld med varmt vatten på min mage. Så somnade jag, och magvärken var fortfarande kvar. Men inte så mycket.

Har mina biljetter till Tyskland, och nu plågas jag av ånger. Alltså, ja, jag har de biljetterna, men är det verkligen värt att åka dit?
Jag vet ju hur jag känner nu. Hur kommer det att bli när jag träffar honom då?

Jag vet ingenting längre. Jag önskar någon kramade om mig just nu. Jag får nöja mig helt enkelt med mina dumma fantasier. Så ja.

Jag skrev en sak idag. Här är den (skrev den på engelska, men alla är så duktiga, att alla kan ju engelska):

"This empty room
Filled by my evil scream
You destroyed my life, I yell
You fucking bitch

And you, you're a betrayer. After lying to me so good. You stabbed me in my back. Watching my blood run down my shirt.

I trusted you, and you knew it well. Now I feel like a piece of shit, cause I was an idiot, putting my trust in you.

If I could grab something sharp, I'd hit you both in your heads. I'd watch the blood on the floor, a smell of death would fill the room. And in case you'd be still alive, I'd kick you so bad, so you'd die within a minute. That's how much I hate you.

But darling, you'd say, I didn't mean to. Please stop!

The answer would be simple:
No. It's time for you to realize how much you've hurt me during our friendship. Revenge, sweet taste of revenge. Are you and this bitch ready for a painful trip to hell?

Suddenly I realize that I'm alone here. You're not here. It's maybe even better that you're not here. Cause I could kill you. And I'm sure that I would.

I need to stop thinking about you two. But the thought is so strong, that it opens my eyes when I try to sleep. It won't go away. Until my heart is healed again. But it won't be. The wound you left there will remain unhealed to the end of my life. 

If I could, I'd practice voodoo to let you feel the pain I feel. To share the nightmares I have, with you. To make you unsure. Unsafe. Afraid.

And if I'd kill you some day, I'd paint a pentagram with your warm blood, and let the demons take your soul to the deepest part of hell. 

So far I can only imagine. And now I can only hurt you by showing you how much I don't care about a piece of shit like you.

But can i stand out? This heartbreaking feeling is always with me. Next time I see you, I'll make you beg for mercy. You don't know this side of me. Yet.

I can be an asshole, too. I don't need voodoo or satanic rituals. I'm human. Of flesh and blood. That makes me an asshole already.

- - - - - -

Midnight. I sneak into your apartment. There you sleep on the bed, looking so innocent. But you're guilty. You destroyed my life. You destroyed my heart. You're guilty. You deserve to die.

Coming closer, looking at your pretty face. Your body has always made me so, oh, this feeling... But no, you deserve to die!

One. I stab you with the knife. Right into your heart. White blankets turning red from blood. You scream. 
Can you feel the pain now? That's how I felt when you betrayed me. 
Two. And again, blood pumps out from your chest.
Three. For all the lies! The lies you put me through during our friendship.
Four. I see the pain in your eyes, now begging for mercy.
Five. And six. And again. For the memories I can't erase.
Seven. You stopped screaming. You stopped screaming, and on my face and hands blood. It doesn't stop me, it's not enough. 
I stab you faster, and faster til I can't breathe. Then, looking at your lifeless body, I reallize - I killed the biggest love of my life. I noticed that you slept with the shirt I gave you for your birthday on. Now bloody and destroyed. 
I felt something in my eyes, which isn't blood. 
Tears.
Slowly falling down my cheeks.

Quickly I wipe the tears away with my bloody hands. No, I tell myself, you deserved to die. "





Jag har konstiga drömmar på sistone. Förutom att de är jävligt konstiga, så dödar jag hela en viss person i dem. Hon har säkert dött minst fem gånger nu. Synd, att bara i mina drömmar...




Allt är jobbigt. Jag önskar jag kunde försvinna. Jag vill inte finnas längre - för att vad är jag bra för? Ingenting.