I’m a sociopath; sweet serial killer, i’m on a war path cause i love you just a little too much..

It is quite cold and rainy out today. I wasn’t quite sure how to dress for this weather, considering it’s been warm for months. I’m wearing a skirt, boots, tank, cardigan, and a scarf. I suppose it works. Sitting at my desk, drinking my coffee, trying to get into my work and it’s a struggle. Every case is the EXACT SAME. Motonony at its worst. I’m bored. I’m frustrated. I feel empty. I feel unwanted.

I’ve regretfully put myself in situations that have been dangerous, destructive, and ethically wrong; no real logic behind any of it, but just wanting something. Wanting a high. Wanting to feel loved and wanted for those fleeting, thrilling moments. Even now, my feelings have become jumbled and much like a puzzle with most of the pieces missing. I must be one stupid, stupid girl. Stupid enough to think it was worth it. Stupid enough to think it was more. I need to focus on myself and not on others’ feelings towards me, because in the end, I’m only left with myself. The thrill of the rush is becoming too much, and I’m left with everything. Heavy heart and absent-minded brain fight one another.





I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it. But I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.

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