sometimes, my dear friend, i think i am mad.

i've fallen in love, again. with sylvia plath. her journals and poetry and "the bell jar." I cant stop reading it. she utterly facinates me. To be so fucked up and know exactly how to write about it. If i could bring somebody back, it would be her, just to talk. i bet she'd get me. shes so smart, she found the way out of her labyrinth, even if she killed herself.

buuuut, it sure won't do much to cheer you up. 

I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

end of innocence.

When was the last time you did something for the first time? Naturally, romantic memories fill your mind now, or fond ones with your closest friends. For me, it was nothing of the sort.

I have scarcely entered the packed night club and my soft feet are already cramping from the high heels. The room's atmosphere is swimming in smoke, strobe lights and the smell of alcohol.

There are groups of people scattered in every direction, their laughter richocheting off the walls of my mind. A man smacks into me, fleeing from unfinnished business. he reeks of betrayal.

At the bar i try to get the bartender's attention. The young, rebellious looking man's eyes rose interest in mine as his attention is caught by the hand next to me, waving a wad of money in the air. I look up to see the face that the hand belongs to and it is as if my eyes alone experience ecstasy.

'Tall dark and handsome' has never been as fitting, as appropriate to anyone else but this guy. His eyes glint mischeviously, his mouth pulls up in a heartmelting grin. He smells like adventure and his pressence gives me a rush.

He introduces himself, and i manage to stumble over my own introduction. His gaze has an unsetting effect on me, but i push the discomfort away.

i taste danger as he continues to charm me, seduce me, but i take a sip of the drink he has bought me to take the taste away.

My head feels cloudy, and it feels as if i cannot complete full sentences in my thoughts without immense difficulty.

I slur my words and i am embarrassed and annoyed at myself.

I excuse myself, hesitantly as i do not want to waste any time with this mysterious man. I grt to my feet and my balance is alarmingly weak. I sway and he catches me, steadies me and with a wry smile, asks if im okay. I nod as my gut feeling is burning a hole in my chest.

I make my way to the bathroom and all my senses feel irreversibly impaired. Everything i see is exaggerated and slow, and i feel as if i am in a tunnel.

Every step i take makes my destination seem further, my body sways as the floor tilts beneath me.

I sit down on the cold toilet seat and the stall is filthy and reeks of urine, smoke and cheap detergent.

I see his beautiful face wearing a sinister smile, and i smell his sweet smell, not adventure anymore but more along the lines of caution, or fear. For a second i am confused, is this not the ladies' bathroom?

He advances and my sweat freezes all over my skin. I realise, my thoughts are vague, but i know.

He comes into the stall and with daunting confidence he kisses me like he has been craving me. The sickening sweet taste of marijuana on his lips fills me with intimidation. My throat is struggling to allow me to breathe. I push his hand away when it wanders to my bra strap but he clutches an unwavering grip on my arm, managing to unbutton my tight jeans, his every touch burning traces on my skin

Battling to shove past him out of the stall, my head slams onto the solid wall next to me. The sting of his hand on my face still lingering like a wicked reminiscence and my ears ringing. Fear and warm, thick, metallic blood fills my mouth. My body still intoxicated with strange dark bliss, i use my last power to fight him off.






He won.

With no more might in my entire body, I'm paralyzed, numb, feeling him thrust like a plague, I wither. He leaves, pleasured.

I'm left there alone, on the nasty, foul reeking, cold floor covered in repulsive substances.

I lay there, lifeless, pacified.

Dead.

On the inside at least. Cold. Gone.

The end of my innocence. My first time for many things. My wicked reminiscence.

butterfly suicide.

so these are a couple of images of banksy's piece butterfly suicide, this shall be my next tattoo, on my ribs. the right side, since i already have some ink on my left hip. im still playing around with the ideas of colour and size but i kinda love this.

no, i love BANKSY.



fighting you is like war.

lifes so fucking confusing now, i mean especially the whole boyfriend thing, i just dont want to think about it cause then i think about her. i dont want to think about that skank bitch whore girl, really? calm down. everything he does reminds me of her like forfucksakes, i want to forget.

and yes, i forgave him, for cheating on me, and for being an asshole. mostly cause of what he told me, that one day two weeks ago when he came to me and gave me this 11 page letter, like i really believe him and i know im being stupid or crazy for letting him back in but i believe him. what he told me and all. it was.... well, after i read (it and he watched me read it and smoke a ton of cigerettes simultaneously) well i felt like i had to, i wanted to just forgive him and have him back again, i missed him, so much.

i can't even begin to explain the last two months, and i know i havent filled you in on everything that happened but it was a whirlwind of fucked up events.

screaming hitting pushing crying smoking drinking notsleeping....i donnt ever want to do that again.
especially trying to stop somebody from killing themselves when your the reason they dont wanna live anymore.

now that everythings calmed down, it feels weird, like alot is missing. i dont miss the drama, its something else, i miss what used to be.

if a body catch a body coming through the rye.

hi there,

so it's been awhile. it feels like thats how i always start my posts now. and it kills me, i want to be here writing everyday. so i've just finished reading 'the catcher in the rye' for the second time. i read it once in grade seven or something and no matter how smart i thought i was, i really wasn't. it was completely different this time, and fuck sometimes i really feel like Holden.

in the sense that im so darn crazy, really, i probably am. Ross told me a couple of times now, to see a psychologist or some shit like when some guy tells Holden to see a psychoanalyst.

well, try being stuck in the elevator of my mind, you'll go crazy too.

im gonna try posting up one of my high school essays, it was pretty good, maybe tomorrow or something. well it was my favourite one. or maybe ggetting an A contributed to my liking it more than the others.