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August 14, 2006
4 years of writing.

Sick to the last cell knowing I wrote and saved a disease that has no cure. All the insects that nicked at my health, the virus that ate me alive.

Select. At the bottom. The very last attack on sanity.

Highlight. Scrolling and scrolling. Up, up. 111 pages. 14 seconds, catching words I mentioned.

Poison.
Vocabulary.
Him.
Floor.
Sun.
Crash.
The.

What possessed me to save this?
To leave behind?

Were I to die tomorrow, someone could know how they killed me. They're not examine my head. The hurt is mine to keep. 14 seconds. Delete.