6:05 p.m. - 2007-09-01
Worst than dead
I heard her voice again...

broken ties, mending back, because there's nothing here in this new fiction, it's all bore repetition. Barren land, scorched by the fire from above, there's nothing left of Babalon. Yearn for days of yerstoday were the girls laughed and screamed at the same time, when large limbs covered mine, and when drink flowed out of the ground like eternal springs. Legendary as it seems now, as real as it was then. What then distinguishes me from the dead?

I search the grave for her ashes, and then I beging to pray the most cursed prayer of them all, thus surrendering my self to damnation. Behead me now for I have commit the vilest sin of all, giving myself back to "her".
Words fall to deaf ears, thank God, and her message was that she has moved on, she has forgotten me, I am a thing of the past....just the past.

What the fuck distinguishes me from the dead?