Grammar Nazism is my vice. Non-conformity is my joke. Honesty is my policy. Insanity is my defense. Self destruction is my savior.



I was, I am, I will be a self-satisfying, contemptuous, sarcastic little twat.
"And there’s that feeling again. The one she’ll never quite be able to explain. The feeling that creeps upon her like a lion hunting it’s prey; suddenly she is sick to her stomach, and her mind is twisting and turning, up, down, out, in, but fuck, there is nothing, absolutely nothing she can do about it. She has no notion as to how to make it go away, make it stop. It hangs, content with horrifying pleasure in the darkening air, and fear engulfs her with warm arms, dripping with the blood of her memories. It is all she can do not to let loose a blood curdling cry as it snakes down her back with slimy guilt. But the only option is dealing with it, because what can be done? There are duties she must fulfill, responsibilities she is unable and unwilling to abandon. But she aches inside; she has no will to go, or even move really. She’d be perfectly content here, watching and breathing, just for a moment. Breathing...but her fingers twitch, and her legs are ignorant of what her heart so dangerously desires. Duties, responsibilities...yes. A scream bursts through her mind; towers of magical vows surround her reason, and she feels such animosity for herself, her hopeless sense of “duty,” it is almost frightening. To hate one’s self...it seems near inhuman. To hate another, however, seems only natural. "

21 May, 2011

Alive.