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February 7, 2007
Ask me about it and I wonít tell you. There is nothing to tell. Plenty to hide. A heart beat under a shirt. No one sees so why should I share. It is my torment alone. My heartache. Like acid reflux. Do you want to hear about that? Itís the same difference. Everything leaves eventually. Only death lasts forever. Only dying constitutes hell on earth. This is a picnic in comparison. I have it easy. Gliding through life on a sled, down a bumpy hill, in the middle of summer. Maybe you could just wake me when itís over. Please?