2005-04-07 -- 12:10 p.m. I’m waiting, I’m slowly waiting, For something, If anything, But I’m still waiting for it, To come, Its nothing for me. Its nothing, Its nothing. I’m waiting for you to come, For you to come, To fucking come. But I can’t wait anymore, I’ve got the knife now, The knife now, Hand it held. To the hilt, Its unsheathed. I’ve got it, Cold upon, The skin, The skin. Its glisten, Stopped by another, Blood red color, I’ve got it another color. Submerge will it, Under the skin, The skin, Will it diffuse my pain, With just another? Will it go away, Underneath the skin, Will my death unearth a life? Will I ever get through to her, To anyone, to myself? Is it worth ignoring the pain any longer?