Drip drip drip goes the water from my head. Drip drip drip. the bitch who will beg for death.. She killed her daughter out of sheer stupidity. And her deathwill be a source of constant mockery. My rage has a name. It remains even in my absence. It has been birthed. It exists simply because she created it. I ramble. But it feels good to ramble I’m running out of options to help me calm down. I’d been listening to a podcast of a Latin Divine Mercy. But last night I realized that there is a pale, light woman singing in the background. It was beyond eerie. Too much for me. Scary. I noticed it last night. I don’t have the stamina or bravery to listen anymore. No outlet. No dimming of reality. This is just it. The story is set up. All I have to do is not wake up. Sometime. It will happen. One day.
Train Bumor 