The sun is a shadow and the birds are dead. You words are an axe and the tree is my head. I wish I were dead. Death isn't real. But it's more real than life. Nothing is real. Why am I dreaming? What is a dream? What is anything? What is nothing. Word is a funny word. Wwuuurrrdd. Ha. I don't know anything. I know too much. The other characters in my dream are mean mommy. They are mean and dumb. They don't understand. Neither do you mommy. You think that you exist. That's silly mommy. Stop it. Don't leave. It's ok. NO! DON'T LEAVE ME! MOMMY!!! WHO IS THAT!? GET BACK HERE! STOP!
<The rest of this entry was lost when the patent lost control and began to kick and scream, when we tried to take the journal, she ripped out the rest of the page and ate it.>
YOU ARE READING
A journal of the criminally insane.
HorrorYou know, I can still hear her voice sometimes, or her last breath. I wanted to catch it in a jar so she would never stop breathing. So that she would not be lost. But that wouldn’t have saved her. Nothing could. She’s gone. And she’s never coming...
