my, oh, my... it seems i have not visited my own blog in a few days. well, i am indeed alive. though, i have been feeling rather ill recently. for sheer moments i had felt that i may have contemplated, or had, suicide/suiciadal thoughts. school has not been of much entertainment. many people have made impolite comments regarding my life, and personal choices.

today, i had an obscure experience. i saw a dead cat on the side walk, whilst walking home from school. i picked it up, it was a very unpleasant smell, and to hold the same suffering of the poor animal, i sliced my upper thigh open with a german ice tempered blade. i only did this so i could remind myself of the similarities we hold between roadkill. we are animals, and we bleed.

i dont know, i dont really know..i think its only because of what ive seen. or what i have done. i think i have essentially killed a person.. maybe 2, maybe 3? i like the idea of death though. i like it. well. bloody murder if you will. for you to take your hands and rip me apart, i like that. when my entrails drag behind me. like a leash, like a dog, like a slave. when my fingernails be lifted from my flesh, breaking my veins beneath. wait, what about when i can be chained up against my will, to have myself forcefully exposed; no, i dont like that. but i do love to see my own eyes, when one is taken out for consumption. and the empty, dark, hollow socket becomes a place that should not be above, but below. if you could just cut me open and eat my intestines, or watch me bleed out when you try to see if i have a human heart. or if you drink from my urinary tract, and spread my legs open and eat up the yellow chunks of fat. yes, i like that. even though i know i dont taste good, can i be sliced open, down the middle, to show a pile of beating organs? and when i say it hurts, only hurt me more, and infest me with salt and maggots, make the pain never go away. can you dig me up from my grave, where my putrid rotting body is awaiting for the mushed remains to become of me. if i was hung up side down, and had my throat slit, i would still smile, until you could rip out my trachea to devour alone. and if i satisfy myself- the sin of lust consuming me- if i could just.. touch myself. and gradually move my fingers to where everyone else rents, but i own. with a knife in my other hand wanting to force it it, so vile and disgusting. or if i must be examined, for being a bad child, if i must go to the doctor, even if i am already dead. if im dragged away from parental guidance, to be owned by a stranger. who will leave me to continue to rot, where insects make their home in my body, crawling under my skin eating away my flesh, decomposing. when a virgin is destroyed to nothing more than a pile of meat to be cooked down into a meal. to be served to many. that was me. even if i died a virgin, i never would stay that way, i would be violated. would i be the same? if i was alive again? or when i heard the kinds of words not made for weak ears, like being a whore slowly torn apart while her cunt was over run with maggots. a lifeless body, of only a child. a child. when the right cuts of meat are seared for your fix. a child. when the morbid fantasies to be fulfilled. when that mangled bitch was good no more. it was acceptable to throw her in the dumpster. to putrify until her guts turned to liquid. a thick black syrup. not sweet, unlike honey. will you drink it through a straw. do you stalk children on a playground?or a girl in an alley. if im strapped to a table to be recorded, traced. if im to drink my own urine, i like that. if you say so, my only vital food source is my own waste, i like that. if you can smear it on my face and force my mouth open, and gag me. if you make me vomit and clean it up, using my tongue, while beating me, and blindfolding, when will i break? until im laying on the ground soaking in my own pool of blood? when i can hear every drop hitting the ground, from rolling down my face from the wound in my temple. is that it? is this really how i die? and then once i die, am i thrown out for another necrophiliac pedohile to use, too? yes, i'll only ever relive this over and over. again and again. hoping for a new outcome. it is insanity.

im aiko. i dont know what im writing about, mostly. i dont know who i am. i only want to tell of what i know. if people read this, i dont know. i want people to know who i am? i dont know? i dont know , to be quite honest. im aiko? i think im aiko. i  like blood, did you know? its because when i was younger, i was hurt. i dont know who it was, it was maybe 5 years ago, when i was 11. for my age i guess im rather strange, i do not have friends. i have fantasies, very disgusting ones. many are based off of real life, though i wish they werent. we walk without gardens.