Come Hither.

Burn the city, light up the sky.




If anyone tells you that you can't achieve your dreams
or puts you down, make your hand into a little claw
and tell them you're a little monster,
and you can do whatever the fuck you like.



In all honesty, I'm sitting right here with the usual cup of coffee, two legs hitched up high, twirling in my chair, earphones plugged ... think I've been sleeping too much, these random splitting headaches come too often. And I know, I've been lacking on serious posts lately, bear with me.

Y'know, I always felt that nobody was going to understand me, going to understand what I felt about things. I guess that is why I started to write. At least on paper I could put down what I thought. And then I turned to penning these thoughts on virtual space.

Then people kept coming back.

Sure, there will always be a handful of those who could connect.
Connectivity is good.

But there are also those who come back to check on your life status - only because they wish you dead. Truth is, they're the envious ones, feeding on every negativity they detect within the words you've written. They lurk in the corner, like vultures, hearts so poisoned but coated in dainty gold. They are the minions waiting, only waiting for your downfall. Hypocrisy is their forte. But like those rabies-infected strays, they appear to be chasing after everything - they chase after their tails, they chase after 'us', which in reality, are our 'projections'; the images we chose to project to the world. But oh, we're too smart for them, aren't we? We play their mind games but only in our sphere of mirrors. So who's getting played now, bitches?

Oh, we'll feed you, yeah.
We'll feed you till your fatal fall ...

because tragic knows no tragedy, sweetheart.