John is not coming home, at least not in the foreseeable future. He is a very ill man. I have the proof of that here, scribbled across four pieces of cheap pink toilet paper:

So you was hoping I was DEAD!?
You deserve everything your conscience FUCKING brings you.
“Human Compost heap!”

‘Human. Compost. Heap.’ Those were MY words. Words I had only imagined John would MAYBE say. And now he has said them. But that doesn’t mean I have some great insight into the man or his nature. That I observed and studied him so meticulously during our years together that I can now second guess his every thought. I can’t. What it means is quite simple: John is reading this blog.

I'm terrified. Since early yesterday evening I’ve been sitting by the window and peering out through the tiny gap I purposely left between the curtains. I know I have certainly ruined everything, but that’s the least of my concerns right now. I have the distinct feeling that John is out there and is watching me. That he’s biding his time and planning something very nasty. And I’m not alone with this thought. Jaws has remained burrowed in the sand at the bottom of his bowl all day. He feels it too.


  1. Now you're going to discover what love REALLY is.

  2. powerful stuff, man. keep this up and you will gain great insight, which will certainly help me and im sure many others who read this.

  3. @ John: You are hurting and scaring me. Please, please stop this and come back home! You need to explain things... you must, it's not fair. I am broken here. Absolutely broken.

    @ Robert: So are YOU! ;) X

    @ Lena: Hopefully it'll get better. Thanx SO much! X

    @ Greggy P: I hope so. Though I hink John probaly has other plans. I hope not. X

  4. Hmmm.

    I should prolly go back and read this from the start.


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