We drank the green fairy.
My bruises are violet.

dear god today is my birthday and i am so old.
no i am so, so young
and I don't have many friends i like
and i keep fanaticizing of men who only wear costumes, whom I've only just met
and my room still doesn't feel like me because i can't decide where i want to go
and today is the first day of  the storm and i cannot help but think this symbolizes something
and the father said he could not go out to dinner but he lied 
and i am still a mile away from my potential
and i still hate doing math
and i am so cold and okay
and i am still dreaming too much
and i don't hate this town but i say so anyways
but really i just don't adventure as much as i want
and i want everything.
I want everything in mysteries and in deep eyes
and I am okay with no more sunshine and eternal nighttiming
and I don't care if I'm flirting with death (literally)
or being selfish.

I am so damn sick of this.
All my thoughts consist of endless night and city streets.
I am sick of my hidden potential at beautiful.
I am sick because I am here
and I am sick because I lust after everything, but no one here likes lust.
or if they do, they hide it, just like I hide my sslender thighs behind sugar.

Come out, Come out where ever you are.

je suis un feu

she asked me to leave. i'm torn.

is there nothing left for me here?

I always do this, think things will come fast again.

Now, like the speed of light.