So last night I dreamt of green birds made of paper. They flew around me in circles, as if examining me, only... they had no eyes but instead a little hole in the middle of their faces where their beaks were supposed to be, a black light shone from deep within their heads, casting shadows upon my skin. The shadows were warm, it felt as though they were slowly healing me. And in the darkness that I was standing, the darkness that was white, the birds seemed like good memories, like friends. One of the birds flew over to me and sat down on my palm and let me look inside its head through the little hole. And I saw its soul...
I strive to be honest these days, so I don't pick up the phone. I do not want to lie to you so I decide not to talk. I want to protect you so I don't touch you at all, I don't even let my eyes rest upon your body. I guess I love you but a part of me doesn't. A part of me wants you dead.
My madness has gotten worse, it seems. I keep seeing people around me when no one's there, someone staring at me from behind a corner so that I can only see some of their face. I want to cherish this. And I am telling no one. Except you, you whose eyes are skipping back and forth on these words. I guess one way of saying it is that I don't want to be healthy again, I don't want to heal. I need one part of me to be ill so that I don't feel normal. I hate normal.