Messy

There is a black shadow inside me, maybe more like a bag, full of hate, tears and shouting. And it is about to break and spread everywhere, and the shit is going to hit the fan...

And I am so tired that I don’t know if I care anymore...

Fantasies...

I am not my fantasies, and I don’t want to. But I do want to enjoy them. I love being myself and I do not change it for anything... but I love being somebody else when it is dark, when nobody knows, nobody sees, I love being somebody else, even if it is not politically correct, even more, if it is not politically correct...

Kicking on

When i feel like crap, like I’m being torn apart, like I don’t want to wake up every mornig, I keep telling myself I can grow out of this. Like a plant. And I think of a vine, dead here and there, and reborn a little later. And it doesn’t help, but I know I can do it anyway. And I don’t feel like making such an effort, but I do it anyway. And I wake up every morning. Dead or alive. U know.