Christine at the Brink � � � Thursday, Jul. 24, 2003 * 04:00

At my saddest, Time goes so slowly; every second takes hours to coax choking tears out of my swollen, distended psyche; every blink of my eyes instigates a new bout of the gnawing, sinking, spiralling despair that comes from within the deepest recesses of my body, and claws its way out, lurching through the pit of my stomach, and wells up in my chest until it overflows and floods my eyes with darkness and wetness, shadows and painful memories that flash through my mind one by one, in turn, pausing momentarily until they have been seen, been loathed, been successful in banishing my life into the tightly locked cell that sits somewhere in a room that was chained up long ago, erecting in its place a shimmering mirage, a picture show of defiled, cheerless, gaping wounds of faces that have no eyes of their own, no tongues of their own, no flesh of their own but mine, and they take hold of me and shove me aside until they've done, until they've taken everything from me but my very tears, and when all that remain are those flowing islands of salty, opalescent water, collecting like silt in the hollows of my face and neck as I lay wretched and barren on my side, clutching my own naked limbs in complete abandon, then Time may step back on His path and travel forward, allowing me some moments of my own to wipe the puddles from my face and open my eyes again.

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Look, I made a doll. Yeah. I know it sucks, but it was my first try. So sue me : ( ... I'll try again soon to make another. This one's supposed to be me.