That's what people say at Christmas, right?
Except normally they have someone to say it to.
They have friends and family,
And they haven't been crouched naked under a Christmas tree
with a needle in their arm like an insane person in a mansion in Van Nuys.
They're not out of their minds, they're not writing in a diary,
And they're definitely not watching their holiday spirit coagulate in a spoon.
I didn't speak to a single person today.
I figured why should I ruin their fuc*** Christmas.
I've started a new diary and this time I have a few new reasons.
One, I have no friends left.
Two, so I can read back and remember what I did the day before.
And three, so if I die, at least I leave a nice little suicide note of my life.
It's just me and you, diary. Welcome to my fuc*** up life.
Nobody would believe the shit that happens in my head, it's haunted.
Now that I've come down from the drugs
it seems like a sick play that I saw in a theater somewhere.
Thirty minutes ago, I could've killed someone.
Or better yet, myself.