Poison Through Ultraviolet Veins

Being acknowledged isn't a big thing to ask or hang your hopes on, some people would say.
It shouldn't be a cause to strive for or be sought by itself without a motive or even a blatantly comprehendible reason.

Sadly, I'm not one of those people; simple-minded fools with hearts carved out of salt and sugar, melting with each false tear and manufactured sweet kiss landing on a sobbing cheek, leaking tragically amused crystal clear despair; no goal in life but to be normal.
And 'Despair' -if I might add- is the word some might choose to describe my act whilst it's in fact one of those stunningly stupid attempts to emblazon their more than childish envy.

Recognition and acquiring it is only one of the reasons I do what I do; the other is purely genetic.
I mean when you've been on the top of the food chain in your house all your life you expect to stay there everywhere. And let's face it; it's not hard to give Jared Leto the pout and get away with stealing his platinum -or black depending on the mood- American Express credit card.

But apparently school had other plans for my thoughts; because -armed with its own food chain of celebrity unfailed pregnancies dressed in brands and knockoffs that'd send your tongue bleeding out of laughter- it was a new type of jungle out there with pretty girls and even prettier boys but the basic rule is the same: be a predator or end up a prey.

I'd like to consider myself as type A: a predator.

Thus being stepped on by any way, McCracken or other famous mishaps is a far too smal price to be tolerated on the expense of my future rise; when those drunken shappy copycat blueprints of their parents rip themselves apart by their own claws; no blood on my hands.

Want a name? You have to worm it out of my lips because that's how I work: behind closed curtains and shrouded crushed souls.

Well, soon to be crushed.

You wonder how I got involved in this swirl of celebrity infamy? I thought it was obvious. I was born and shoved into it like the rest of them; into the lights, still covered in my mother's bodily fluids and bloody coatings. Not a very pleasant image; doesn't mean I didn't like it because it was that moment; that very moment when I was brought into the limelight I started craving it; a drug too sweet to give up on that's tattooed to my libido and under my veins.

Even thought I was born with a little filthy mouth crowded with silver and golden spoons it never was enough; no luminous precious metals were good enough; I wanted the shine that the metal rubbed upon my flesh to fill the hollow void within my chest, lurking like a black hole. Sucking everything within into expressionless nothingness; absorbing lights and pretty flashes wandering on and about those vast malls or moody streets of Manhattan.

And I was meant for the lights and flashes.

And daddy didn't spare one silver dime to make his little princess happy. As long as she was all smiles, he was all smiles.

And you don't wanna know how much a Leto smile costs.

Growing up with daddy's hugs and kisses made me want more silver, gold and paper affection every time he wasn't around; which is a decent amount of time with me facing a hollow emptied phantom house; and the lights I've seen distributed within certain stars across this school were one -of the many- solely materialistic things that quenched my thirst to all the glitter-dipped ambergris thrones dangling in front of my eyes and fingers everyday.

And little miss Leto wants to fit in with all the little misses and gentlemen but some other little misses and gentlemen are breaking her wants and tries into no more than illusions and corpses dubbed 'silly and desperate'.

All because of the rotten shadows cast upon me by a certain elite of faulty clones of famous parents; but it was little Ms. Perfect that took the cake. Doused in her everyday galore that illuminates the corridors and hallways, either with her group of similar misfit girls or her so-called best friends; thick as thieves as they'd say.

Miss Charlie-all-that-and-a-screw-up-dad-McCracken along with Aiden-sleaze-ball-Way and Dan-should-be-medicated-as-hell-Iero; the fun-fucked triplets.
And let's not forget the rest of the lovely gang; Jared-trying-too-hard-Way, then best friend and possible fuck-buddy Dick-head-Wentz and everyone's sweetheart Madelyn-way-too-innocent-Way, as well as the Urie-Ross fuck-up fusion; brains and lack thereof.

Oh and not to forget the pretty fake blonde head up that whiny ass; Cassie-bitch-should-be-broken-down-Lee.

All pretty bittersweet girls and burning sinning boys with nothing more than fun and games burnt into their skulls, seeking refuge in each other; body and mind-wise. All trying to hide those little flaws like those tired bruises lying underneath that party-boy shirt or a hopeless stare at a best friend who casually touches you and kisses your cheek unknowingly making your toes curl and your fingers stiffen. It's all around love, isn't it? Like a modern day opera or a bristle whiff of mythology where everyone gets punished for deeds far beyond their capability but with no birds eating your newly grown liver; but with talk and talk and teeth eating up dignity and chiffon hearts; made at the best tailors and gossipers ever known to mankind: mankind itself.

Whereas a great ensemble to the tragedies that are about to fall on their -and everyone's- heads exists now, the book must be lettered, inked with paints of war and spilled broken prides; each with its own chapter in the book that's about to close on all their necks. One by one.

Each pretty fake smile will be turned down from its high horse. Even if I have -and I will- drag it down myself.

I'm Jasmin Leto; the name you'll remember of the poison you'll want to drink.