November 21, 2009



Maybe he's licking her pussy right now. I'll smell his beard when I see him later. Maybe she's trying one more time to convince him to leave me for her. Maybe he's already convinced and is on his way. Maybe I'm going to throw up again.

Maybe I survived last night only to fall on my face on the sidewalk today, crying into the puddles of rain, shouting and sobbing at strangers, maybe I can get myself arrested or something, maybe nothing will ever be the same again. It hurts so much.

Maybe all I want is for him to walk in the door and fold me into his arms, and maybe I never want to see him again. Maybe I hate him and maybe I want him to fuck me hard with his dick still wet from that bitch.

Maybe I do want to kill myself to stop feeling like this, and I'm just not doing it because it's too selfish and it would really suck for my kids to have to grow up with that. I'd love to do it to him, though. Kill myself, that is; I'd love for him to live with that.

I wouldn't mess around with pills. I like blood.


DsD lives and writes in the raw. Trapped in a cave, she tends her cubs by day and licks her wounds at night.

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