The Cyanide Sacrifice

God said the answer is within The children's crying dreams Misaligned, devil's details In their lies of ability "to" In their imperfecton hue In their wayward sayings In justification's hanging In their wayward criss-cross Cadence that sings cries, lie The blackened heart sins The good heart trapped within As if, good, bad are perception, no That was a clever rhyme for time Everything in this desired alibi It's either right or wrong, strong In the ancient singing song You have no choice but to do Until our punishment is through: "To love," believe in air. As if that could care, oh, careless.

The Job Interview

Today I go in for another job interview.

I don't know what to write. I feel strangely. I feel as though I shouldn't even bother going. What happens if I lose this job too? What happens if I start laughing randomly or have another attack?

I should go just for practice. People aren't evil. Going outside is not bad.

It isn't like it's a choice... do I want to be homeless? I need to have savings.

And this job is low stress.

My grandma sent me a bottle of fennel to ease the issue, and I rubbed it on my chest this morning. I smell as if I've been running around the woods. It made me smile. I mean, of course fennel isn't going to get rid of my problems, cast out the "demons," but it's the thought that counts.

I want to go home. There's a long list of reasons why I can't. It was all his genius.

Honestly, I haven't had any issues since we threw out the bottle of concerta. My doctor was weary of why I had it. It was my fault. I asked for it.

No shadows since.

I mean, I've had the usual commentary from the universe. A star told me it was leading me the other night intuitively, and I was cheery and skipped along the street like I do. I regress.

Simple things are difficult for me now. I'm making low Bs, so I need that. I need to be special, or I think I'll destroy myself. People are already trying to manipulate me with my disorder, relatives included, as always.