Sorry it took so long, I need inspiration to do these things really and I seem to be lacking it lately.

Sorry in advance for any spelling or grammatical mistakes.


It's a burning sensation.

It pools in the pit of your stomach.

It flutters up through your chest. Your heart strains under it's poisonous haze.

Logic means little, or nothing.
You feel the urge.

To crush glass in your palm. To throw plates like discs. To bend forks to irregular shapes.

It hits your eyes.

Tears pool.

Your teeth grasp your lips tightly between them. Don't draw blood. Don't cry. Don't laugh.

You are a doll.

Stoic, yet supporting the weak willed.

Thoughts bubble in you mind. But they're kept at bay. Everything is. Besides distaste.


Your new best friend.

You wear the facade. You suffer inside. You bear the burden of untold secrets. But who cares?

No one.

That is how some live.

They survive on the bare remains of their sanity, hushed about things they can't speak to others of.


By default are selfish, vain and dramatic.

We wallow in our own pity, and care little to none about the feelings of others.

A gift, a curse.

It is... hard to tell, given that we can earn some other's pity,

But that means little to none. When you have no shoulder to cry on for all your time.

In sorrow and rage.

We become insane. Unbearably wild.

Wanting to become the light of destruction, we fight. For ourselves only. And look for God.

A theory.

Unbelievable and illogical.

Yet, it is the reason some and born, and the reason some live.


The path you walk on.

It may the be the last slap of cold concrete you shall see if you are taken up.


That is what I feel.

When I watch a lifeless corpse being lowered six-foot lower.


My hunger for food has vanished.

My new sustenance. Seems to be blood. Not that of another. But my own.

A knife.

Smooth. Cool. Beautiful.

As it engraves your skin. With a slither most enticing. It carves the mark. That will remind you.


To be like a withering tree.

Waiting for a storm. To be felled. To be released from the earth that binds you. To be dead.


Like love.

Is fleeting. It can be there, and you can be so deeply in it. But it can fly away. Leaving you stranded.



Want to continue any further. I feel, my time is up. But they won't let me go. Say they need me.


Think they do. Nobody loves me. They don't need me. I'm just a nuisance.


Are beautiful. Are wonderful. Are unique. Wondrous. Creative. Magnificent.


Can be.

Anything you chose.



To be like me.

Love you all!

Feedback is appreciated!


Yui xxx