Voices in my head are talking again. They’re landing on a few things that have me thinking differently.
I don’t exactly know what kind of personality disorder or mental illness you’re suffering from is called/named, but while they were calling to the blowjob queen of Boston, I got to thinking “maybe when they say it was ‘someone else’ they mean she was having an episode from her disorder” but I couldn’t rationalize why this split personality of yours was such a huge slut, especially considering that porn is illegal in your country, so where could you have learned any of this stuff? I mean it’s easy to cross borders in Europe, go places where these things aren’t prohibited, maybe it was that girls trip to Italy, who’s to say…
Next, the voices tell me that you were actively a conspirator trying to get me killed, that there’s more to not wanting to talk to me than I realize. I mean the likelihood of me having a fatal bullet somewhere in my body that night in New York in hindsight, does seem high, but who knows, we don’t, I’m still alive, I’m still breathing, apparently.
Still more than anything I want to be done with you, and while shifting my attention to women that do respond to me has done wonders recently, somehow I find myself back here, speaking to a ghost, a figment of my imagination, a haunting, a hallucination, delusion.
Fitting for Halloween.
Boo!