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 ?



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.

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.