Thoughts filled my mind. The whirring of cogs and gears could be heard audibly throughout the studio. My heart stalled and started, slowed and sped. Millions of images swarmed the confines, passing behind my eyes, trying to attack the cortex until it had either suffered too tremendously to bear the burden of living or...finally gotten what it wanted. It has a name, but that name is... Well, the name is emblazoned on the beast's cage, carved clearly into the stone base...resting in that dank and dour room full of dusty cobwebs. The monsters there screech and growl to symphonies of suffering and terror...always fulfilling desire. FULFILLING DESTINY! I know what the beasts names are...they are all one person. They are I; just as I am I. There is no me. Me was taken away. Long ago. Stolen by something far greater than myself. By forces too powerful for me, even now, to fully comprehend. Fredward Benson. Samantha Puckett.

Carly Shay? The cogs hit a jam. The gears struggle to keep turning, the machine begins to strain, and the theys transform back into the I. As the I remembers itself, the cobwebs are dusted away. The me has emerged once more: a belated and irritating reunion. An exasperating encounter. Must I always see it? Must I always get it back? I don't need it; I don't want it. Keep it; it's yours. It has always been yours.

The darkness of night shrouds the room and compliments my mood; the light only mocks it. The sun burns down upon my monastery and destroys the gloom...or so it thinks. It really only condenses it, pushes it into the corners as it pierces through the windows. Soon even the corners are brightly reflecting the sun beams...but where does the darkness go? It must go somewhere, right? The darkness displaces itself inside my heart, filling in the empty cavity, seeping through the cracks. My veins are chasms. My arteries are invisible. I go for the arteries.

I can't do anything right. I'll be stuck a loser for eternity. A loser. A fucking loser. A FUCKING LOSER!!

I have no musical talent...no athletic talent...there are so many in school better than me. Everyone is better than me. Who couldn't be better than dirt? What pile of crap couldn't be better than me? I hate me. I hate myself.

I have no wit...I am clumsy...I am not attractive by any means...I used to think I was ok-looking.

Now I think I'm ugly. Fat and ugly. But I'm working on that...without working out...just by working.

I have no talents or abilities...nothing latent or inherent except quirks. There are those who excel at everything. There are those who excel at some things. There are those who are average at everything. And then there are the unfortunate ones who suck at everything.

I am one of those unfortunate ones; Luck is not my grace or savior. Good is always proceeded by Bad. Evil will always envelop and destroy Good, ensaring it until no Hope is left...suck at everything but holding a danged camera up...and what monkey couldn't do that?

I tried induced vomitting today. Five attempts and nothing except dry heaving and a little phlegm. Lately, cutting isn't working out so well either. I just don't bleed anymore. I want to know why it was so easy before...when part of me held onto some foolish idea that they'd see. When I still locked doors. When I still shut windows. When I still assumed that people HAD to care such a modicum that they would at least STUMBLE upon my actions inadvertently. But no...never. Never. What good am I if I can't even hurt myself right anymore?

No one cares. No one remembers. Me or what I say. I am alone. From overprotected to completely forgotten...is there a sharper fall? I'm not sure...there is...there was...but I don't like to think about that time anymore.

Where was I? Oh yes...suffocation doesn't work either...regardless of the means and method. I am still allowed to live this cursed life. Waiting for more darkness to find a home in my black hole of an aura...so that the sun can push more into me each morning.

Did I shower today? Do I care? Did I eat today? Do I care? Did I sleep last night? Do I care?

I ask myself. A resounding "No" is all that comes back. But even then...it is unneeded. I knew the answer before I asked the question. The pain returns and reminds...

Me.

Sam...me loves you. Me will forever love my second sun. But it is unrequited. Me remembers though. You're like a bullet lodged in my skull. You're stuck there forever, exactly where me wants you.

If you weren't there...I'd be scared. What would me do to myself, if I never knew you existed? I'm not entirely sure me wants to know...

I.

I live these days. Orbitting the sun, the heat grazing the surface of my dusty heart. Completely incinerating the shell and throwing the rest into nuclear holocaust. But I love seeing the northern lights...

The moon is also so very close. The sun reflected off her luminous surface. Skin off of skin...I love it...but the space between is always so cold. I want to crash straight into you and meld with you, my sun, my moon.

Me.

My brain has been roasted. Me is dead. Me wants to be dead again. Me wants you to hold me again! Me wants you to love ME! Is a little reciprocated feeling too much to ask? Me loves you more than anything and everything. Me would die to be with you. Me would kill everything to be with you... Me can never forget. Me can see the line between itself and I all too clearly...all too frequently.

My sun loves it though. She must. She'd be with me now if me were dead. Me wants to die. Die many times. Or maybe just once. Just that one precious time...

I.

I'll never--

Me.

Me never--

I.

will remember--

Me.

will forget--

I/Me.

that day. You saved us. All of us. In this crazy, anarchal world. You and the others. The NONEXISTANTS. The SECONDARIES. The FODDER. The moon can burn if you'd be with me.

You hugged us twice. You kissed us twice. And you proved to us that you cared in some weird way...just not the way that we want you to.

Is it so much to ask? You're all I ever really wanted...all I ever really needed. And I couldn't have this one thing...this one, wonderful being...I'd be content to stay within the gallows of misery and despair until the universe collapsed if it meant the sun would be at my side! To warm me, to comfort me...to heal me.

Fredward Benson.

I love you Sam. No matter how many times I try to distract myself, I always return to the quintissential conclusion. No matter how many other girls I look at; no matter how many times I bleed or suffocate...nothing compares--not even euphoria--to you. You are perfect in every way; I would never think to alter you. The sparring, the fighting...actually it's very kinky. Like a game of cat and mouse. The masochistic mice will always win...regardless of any potential outcome.

I love you.

Don't blame me. Blame insomnia, sleep paralysis, narcolepsy, and depression.

Freddie.

I love you Sam. That's all there is to it.

I'd try blowing my brains out, but with my luck I'd live somehow...some messed up way...

I'm going insane...and without you I don't really care.

I'm growing desperate...and I need you to help me back up.

You're tired of me. I annoy you. But give me one chance. I swear you'll see something this time. You just have to.

The raven sees so much in me, as do the maple leaves on the sidewalk below.

The sun is rising to scare away the raven. She ascends the stairs and defeats my sympathy. She tells me that I need to get some sleep, that she needs to get some sleep, and that that damn crow was keeping her up.

But it was a raven. Sam is prettier than a raven, and I, personally, enjoy the sun's surreal company more than a bird's.

I pushed the pocket knife with even greater force into my arm, coming down in slow drags. The scissors weren't working.

I prefer arteries over veins.