quotheraven's Diaryland Diary

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Another rant...

I'm sick of fighting with you!

What good does it do?

What's the use of saying your sorry

when you know another argument is just

creeping around the next corner?

I'm over it, spent, done.

We should be having fun.

Instead I can't even look at you

without wanting to knock the shit out

of you!

You work nights and I days,

we never see each other.

But what's the point if when we finally

do we do nothing but piss and moan?

I feel like I have nothing left,

nothing more to give.

I feel like things get so hard

that I don't care to live.

I have my children that I should say

I should live for forever.

But the truth is that they may be

better off with me gone and I'm

just fooling myself into believing they

somehow need me.

You told me just today as you were

bringing me back to work that you wish

I still liked you the way I did in

the beginning.

I told you that things have changed since then and I can no longer help nor hide how I feel as a result of that change.

Divorce? Suicide? Seperation? Denial?

They're all a way out, but which do I choose?

I just don't want to be tired anymore.

I don't want to come home to a messy house, yelling kids, a husband who only uses me for a recepticle.

I don't want to look in the mirror and hate that reflection that comes back at me.

I don't want to be self conscious any more.

I don't want to have the weight of my entire world on my shoulders because I'm all I have to depend on.

It's lonely where I am, here, in this sad and mental state.

I just want to feel new again, needed,

excited about something.

I want to feel gorgeous and charming,

intriguing and sensual.

I want to feel these things I haven't felt in so long.

I'm just really pissed off today.

Just like yesterday.

And the day before.

I'm mad at everyone, that my life's

merely a bore.

I can't wait for bed tonight when I can

slip far away into another demension.

In a realm of dreams and visions

that will swallow my soul up into

bliss.

12:52 p.m. - 2004-01-07

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