Driven Madness

Reality likes to sink in very often – so often that I end up spinning like some queen instead of drowning. If Reality’s no. 1 habit is appearing with and like a bang, then Fantasy’s is pulling dreamers into their favorite (or at least one of them) pastimes: Daydreaming.

Hate knocks on the walls around here. This always makes me do something. Perhaps drawing lines on my skin could be the anti-pain version of actual cutting. It’s for cowards – people like me who are not brave enough to even get something pointy and sharp. I like movie-gore on the screens, big and small, but blood on myself by point-sharp-thing already freaks me out just by thinking about it.

Unreachable & Unreal people/things make me happy.

People who KNOW me – big word – know I love some stuff. Books, Owl City, Adventure Time. Not all music can heal – not all make sense. The music-magic gives me the familiarity of home. Some home so far, far away. Faces like Adam Young’s make me happy.

Also his smile feels warm.

Alone time makes me happy.

And so does understanding.

I want to create something worth people’s time.



I want to feel literature everywhere. I want to bite on it like the most attractive cherry pie ever, then chew chew chew – taste the beauty of the words I know. Bitter but sweet. To create. To feel words creeping up to me from an image. Feel. Emotion. Know them under my skin. Acknowledge the birth of thoughts and realization. Move your tongue to the hurricane of words. Kiss the inked lines across my hands. My arms. My fingers. Block out their hysteria and breathe in my own.

I am hungry.

And I hate, and I love.