Pages of some diary (2)

I don't understand why most of the people complain about waking up in the morning. I like mornings. It's those 3 to 60 seconds when I feel like my dream is real. And I can change it however I want to. I get to choose the big finale. But the most important part is waking myself up. Deciding who i'm going to be the rest of the day. I'm a bitch today. I don't like people and I'm visualizing this scene where I am murdering them. My face is  what they're seeing in their last minute. My voice is taking away their last breath. I feel powerful. And then I stop for a second and I get scared by this feeling running thru my veins. I think, people like me are not supposed to walk freely in the park or be free at all actually. If there is truly a Hell, that is my mind. There, we don't use weapons, or fire, or ice, or hot wax, we use our bodies. Hands, feet, eyes, mouth. Because it's what makes us feel strong. It's what makes everyone else's pain - our pleasure. The power. Speaking of which, I don't have enough to get up from this bed today, or leave my reality. So i'll just stay here and spice it up a bit,  adding nakedness and sex to all these punches and bleeding noses and broken arms. And I don't even feel like masturbating today. I'd like some hot wax poured on my skin, though. Shape me into something strange. A female version of Frankenstein, maybe. Let it be according to my mood. Ugly and hateful.