The thing with me is I do not believe in a thing called happiness not that it does not exist, because it does, it has to do with its temperament: it takes you on a ride and leaves you hanging amidst the joys it brings, whilst it fades in its shimmer at once, with you, wanting more. A slave in your relentless pursuit you become. Well, I do not pursue it anymore, I make it behave, wanting to visit me rather than I taking endless journeys just to reach its slippery fingers. Everyday I become more and more aware of who I am to be. A woman, unlike other, awakened by the musk of those who lay dead before me. I pay my respects by learning about their shortcomings and their victories, put them beside the other prototypes that failed rather miserably in the most majestic; sadistic way possible. I have caught a glimpse of my portrait in a dream and dare I say: “I look beautiful!”, “I look glorious”, “Such grace”, “Such affinity”, “am I real?”…
You may think me vain however my self-centeredness stems from unhinged errors. I had to pour gold on that mask that I once wore so that I could bear living. My vanity is my protector. My stealth is my veil. My heart is my prison. My mind, my labyrinth. Secrets spoken out in the open yet I remain a mystery even to my own self. I dug a grave in my youth, one that had my name, it read “here lies humanity, here lies innocence, and here lies imagination”. Extremely jealous of that child that I took beauty and left sentiment. How the world has toughened, how the world has cried! You could look me dead on my pale eyes and you shan’t see but a river damned awaiting salvation. However I am that forbidden fruit that one desires, a puzzle unsolved and THAT… that is what makes my charm. Valiant soldier be weary of the dragon inside. Lovely harlots, do not fret, for I am queen. Warlocks, I AM YOUR ENCHANTMENT.
Do my thoughts interest you? Do you LOVE my twisted ways of thinking? Are you enamored… yet? Do… you… beg… for more?
Enough of that, while thinking I am thinking of more mores and stories countless to count. Deep is my breath, accountable for various streams of Oxygen and Carbon Dioxide. Stupefaction is the only word that I get when I speak to my elf, numerous dusted shelves I must reach however memory fades away. Mind tricks for mind tricks, I guess. Where am I in all of this? Who am I truly? Am I my yearnings or my origin? How can I use personal nouns when clueless about self? Can I be redeemed? Have I been soaked in holly water again to clean the ruins of my soul?
There it is the applause without audience present. Where do you hide? Voices loud as bells rang, I cannot differentiate between past, present, future. I live between realms, is this purgatory? Do I have to remind myself that I am flying in an airplane to return back to ‘reality’? What happens if I travel to my own galaxy? Will I be discoverer of self or oceans of men? Ugh, I must awake from slumber, I must open eyes, I must believe in me own, and get on my feet to pee all these toxic neurotic behavior of thought before becoming nutter.
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