Dear Diary.

Unknown day, but a saturday 06:13 pm

Dear Diary,

I used to tie my wounds this hard only to see denial in their eyes when I finaly showed them up. I lied so bad into that life that I don’t even remember how is the truth. Meaning, my original self. I dreamed of it, shield end preserved. Only to find my mind raped by demons’ toughts. I woke up mad and broken. And it grew with me as I was hiding it, holding it. Until it became a part of me.

Grumpy, thursty. Insatiable. Lying on my conscience, whispering. Living in me as I let some masks filter out of my grasp. Enduring the scratchs, the flesh, the blood, mental sinisters and other sins. We travelled as a conflicting whole. A being, with my old friend, dear sister quater of my personality. Cause I divised myself again to stay sain. Dug my guts in order to go over daily abuses. And I was damn so good in this act. As if I had nowhere else to go…Whilst too surrounded.

But I would have to cut too deep in order to be what I’m supposed to, now. Ain’t fitting in those shitty social categories. It hurts too much and I’m not strong enoug to try my unreveled traumas. Despite my identitary burden, am mostly fond of easiness, ya know. Lazing in some random stories to be able to feel something, sometimes. Reality is gross, rotten – wrong, in a way. I can’t get it and never had. Why would I want to attempt anymore ?


Juin 2016



Nda : Inspiration spontanée, musicalité approximative, english writing training. Un espèce d’egotrip entre la peine et la haine. Et par ce qu’Andrej Pejic, il est TROP belle ; lecture.



They are telling me :
Do what you want, be who you are.
They are telling me :
You’re not anybody, you are so much more.
They are telling me :
You’re meant to bright, you’re so shiny.
They’re telling me :
I’m beautiful.
He’s telling me :
I’m beautiful.
But I’m not listening.

Come fly with me, She’s whispering.
Come fly with me, I’m following.
Come fly with me, just fly with me.

What can you see when you’re looking at me ?
What can’t you see when you’re smiling with me ?
I’m beautiful, don’t you think so ?
I’m beautiful, don’t you all know ?
I’m beautiful, even though false.
I’m beautiful.
Make me believe it.
I wanna believe it.
But I’m blinded.
Nonetheless watching the multiface goddess ;
Sacred mirror, shattered honor, friendly horror.
Holy sanity, destroyed identity.
I’ve lost faith, can’t trust fate.
I’m just…
I just want to…
Just need to…

Fly with me, She’s whispering.
Come fly with me, and I’m following.
I’m following.
Am I flying ?

Dancing in the moonlight, so high.
Laughing in the dark, soundtrack.
Clap, clap : I’m living.
Smoking, drinking, playing.
Now, am I living ?
Dreaming, dreaming.
Freed from liberty.
Chained to the infinite sky.
Chained to the undefined clouds.
Chained to this music and this rhythmic silence ;
Idiotic reliance.
Can the rain wash my brain ?
Can this rhum wash my gut ?
Can those pills wash my sins ?

She’s whispering.
Come fly with me, fly with me, fly with me.
She’s whispering.
And I’m still following, just following.

Can my breath blow my mind ?
Blow my mind…
It used to tell me, to tell me.
I used to believe it, believe him.
Beloved hope, beloved loved one.
Liar, as every being.
Liar, as any beating.
Heart ;
Hurting : me.
And my hatred,
And my feelings.
Running through my system, I hate them.
Them all traitors, them all raptors ;
Sentimental predators.
Which I’m full of, fully against.
A fool in war, a fool in love, a fool in hate.
With myself.
And yourself.
And every cells of this face up reflect :
The world.
The whole guilted innocent world.
Perfused to the wind.

So come fly with me, She’s whispering.
Fly with me, and I’m following.
But don’t you, don’t you forget it.
To remind me, to convince me of it.
Don’t you forget that I have to fly away.
And don’t you dare, dare to forget.
That I’m beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful.
That I’m beautiful, I’m beautiful.
I’m beautiful.


Septembre 2015

The Game.

Nda : Ceci sonnait étrangement comme un rap dans mon crâne lorsque je l’ai écris. Seule et à bout au milieu de nul part au bord d’un pré ; lecture.



[Do I look like I’m crying ?

Try again, I won’t be abused.

Don’t you wanna beat me ?

The thought thrills me.

I might wanna live something.

I might wanna do something.

Any of them indeed, just play with me.

Distract me from my own mind.

Let me dig my brain’s fingers in your body.

Rub my cells against your hardened…laugh.

Ain’t the Game waiting.

[Joking while drinking numb.

Ain’t got nothing to pay.

Ain’t got nothing to say.

There’s too much for a single prayer.

There’s too much to be a story teller.

But I am. As I am. Just who am I ?

Doesn’t matter, an other looser.

Climbing down my own madness.

Climbing down to reach happiness.


Running after my nightmare ghost.

Afraid to lose the lose control.

Why would I want to be…whatever I could ?

Lost, cause I’m lost.

And ain’t the Game waiting.

[I tripped on a smoky dream.

Keep on tryna explain it.

Keep on tryna release it.

Just wanna fly and fly so high.

That I won’t be able to fall back.

That I won’t be able to wake back.

Maybe I should die while I’m still up ?

& away, North South far from earth.

That’s what I need to feel alive.

That’s why I need to feel alive.

But ain’t the Game waiting.

[Watch the darkness smile.

Listen his melody.

Drink his agony.

Swallow the shadow.

Feel it extending his dirty claws.

Stroking my curves.

Exploring my being.


I’m still dreaming of it.


How beautiful it was down there.


How beautiful I felt in the ground’s arms.


Surrounded by sins.

Singing blooming lies.

Realize, ain’t the Game waiting.

[I fell for that depression.

I’m still travelling through retaliation.

Seeking explanation.

But why would I want to fight ?

I intentionally turned off the light.

Day act.

Can’t see its judging side anymore.

Can’t see it justified anymore.

Don’t wanna stick to the core.

Don’t wanna be part of the score.

Sayin’ I should bright alone.

Sayin’ but ain’t got no flow.

No life.

Sad, so sad.

But I prefer this illusion.


This version of a rotten world.

My own.

Fully and only mine.

My holy overland.

So tryna touch me.


So tryna see me.


Feeling odd suddenly.

Sick of it while still fully…


Don’t forget, ain’t the Game waiting.

[Speaking of the devil.

It’s like calling my name in the night.

Crossed fingers as a knight.

I’m listening your bloody scream.


Will you have a stupid role ?

Theatre of broken myths.


Enter the game and hope to win.

Enter the game, I’m still playing.

Always away in fantasy.

Panting and painting reality.

What do you think, of course I cheated.

And yes, that’s a pity.

But shut up, dance with me.

Call me a fool, it’s destiny.

I might have no lasting sanity.

Cause ain’t the Game waiting for me, neither anybody.



Août 2015

Sulking Doll

Nda : RAS, I’m a freak ; lecture.


Une petite fille dans un corps de femme. Un micro organisme dirigeant un neuro-système de géante. Comme si la moindre de ses pensées pouvait geler un océan. Le moindre de ses gestes irradier le continent de glace. Elle se sentait enfermée dans cette immensité affolante. Cet infini restreignant sur lequel elle n’avait aucune prise tout en en étant la seule pilote. Comme une énorme machine de guerre trop bien huilée que la plus infime brusquerie pouvait activer et mettre en branle, prête à annihiler toute autre destinée. Alors elle ne bougeait plus, perdue dans les responsabilités qu’elle ne pouvait assumée. Dépassée par l’univers si lourd à porter. Elle ne bougeait plus et attendait l’épuisement de la rutilante exterminatrice guettant son abdication tacite dans ses faiblesses mal contenues. Un outil profane dans la boîte de Pandore. Voilà ce qu’elle était, misérable être manipulé manipulant entre ses doigts trop faibles la force de détruire le monde, ou de le sauver.

Mais par-dessus tout elle était terrifiée. D’une peur envahissante qui lui rongeait les chaires, jusqu’à l’os. Qui imprégnait son sang et sa moelle jusqu’à corrompre ses sinus gangrenés de psychose. Jusqu’à envahir ses terminaisons nerveuses tremblantes d’une appréhension malsaine. Jusqu’à détruire les derniers affres langoureux de sa raison décharnée. Alors elle sombrait dans une folie douce et implacable. Une folie adepte et désespérée.