This is literary diary of bizzare person from Europe - now living in L.A
Pure triviality
Published on April 3, 2006 By Secret Literary Diary of Malte In Sex & Romance
Everything I want to tell you, I can't tell you. Close in the dark bottle forever. Set me free please, regardless of the danger, regardless of catastrophy.
I'm taking all those pils I can find in my empty house, to get rid of this pain. I'm eating, I'm reading, I'm watching, I'm listening, I'm talking, I'm drinking, day in and day out. Nothing changes. Still every night I go behind my house. I go behind my house and spend there few houres. Go behind my house wanting to kill myself.
Not seriously of course. Nothing too serious. That would be too crazy, ohh, that would be too crazy even for me. I'm still on this side. On this side where he is. He is good now, you know. He is very good now, and this is killing me, killing my soul, if I can be a little dramatic. He pretends to understand me. I'm bad, I'm dirty.Why he can't be you. This is his only fault now.
He is not you, and I can't stand it. He is so good, but I can't stand it. He doesn't talk to me with your voice, he doesn't look at me with your eyes.
Yes, this evening I'm again behind my house. Sitting here and contemplating my pain. This pain is intense and deaf. Waiting for freedom smoking one after another.
Can't live without you, can't help it. Please, help me. Help me, because I'm becoming too trivial because of you.

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