I only know what I am not.

I'm an anonymous rumor, more interesting the mind of others that in reality. Made to be something I'm not and getting an inflated ego because of it. 

Continuing headaches, I'm in a state of aching pain and running in panic because I should feel bad. I should feel bad about so many of my actions, and I should be ashamed of my dirty little secrets. 

Dreaming about the boy, the man, the awkward sex god; the man of my dreams. 

Giving away

           My body

                   to something fake because it hurts 

                                     too much to think I'll never find my dreams coming true. 

So fuck me olive boy, my dark passion, give me average sex and average security so I'll forget that I never get what I want. 

Running seems pointless after all, and to be honest, I prefer dancing. 

I feel broken.
The love of my life just said that nothing in his life has value or brings him happiness (he put extra pressure on nothing).
I'm included in this... And I have to admit, it's a special kind of pain..
I'm going numb
in the most hurtfull sense of the word..

and I wish he would think enough about me to look here, on all my internet journals and see, what goes on inside me
truth is though, something like that would never occur to him

I feel absolutely horrible, and maybe I even feel upset as well that I'm putting up with this treatment.. but mostly I just hate myself for being a selfish bitch

I am the Angel
Getting her brains fucked out
By God himself

She was a drug
And I couldn't commit
To neither being an addict
Or to being clean

There will be no more posting in here, for a little while.
Found my best friend in a leatherbound notebook and that
Is where I'll be writing for now
Or until
I love something enough
To put it on here
Or the other way around.

I've got no normal self control, only self-inflicted little tortures of my own.
I've got plenty of those though, under rose cheeks and blooming secrets.
These self-inflicted, little tortures, plenty as they are, they keep me balanced in a way, my mind is telling me
is unhealthy.
How little I care, this so-called me, my self that no longer lingers.
I've floated into an empty state, for once, I don't even care.
An empty state, yet so filled up, with whispers and vows, promises and beliefs, and beyond all, lies and make-belief.
I've danced myself, into an unforgiving sea, of beauty and smiles and everything sweet.
Flowers have taken over my hair, pastels my life, and all those glittering nail-polishes are drenching my fingertips.
I surround myself with colours and grins and music and love, and yet
everything
is so..
disturbing.

I am not fulfilled, my hunger is very much present.
The hunger for chaos and pain and suffering
that's been present
forever in my life.

I'm getting two needles shot through my tongue in a minute
to remind myself

This
Is who
I am.

if only
I was capable
of containing such beauty

There are
One million poems
Which
I would have written for you 

He told me that my eyes looked pretty when I had just cried
And I knew I had found The One

I have this thing
Where I tell myself
That everything's a lie
The world
My memories
Your love and
The words that escape your lips.

I have this thing
Where I convince myself
That my world is make-belief
That it's self-deceiving
Thinking that you mean it,
And that our fairytale is just
Another untrue story

I think I need to realize
That what we have might just be real
And that nobody
Can stick to somebody like this
Unless they really care
And that the 52 reasons
Aren't something you'd have trouble finding

I found what I needed
Right beneath my skin

I found what I wanted
In the folds of his neck

I found my darkest secret
Just below her waist

I found what I wished for
Down the road

I go by his scent, and the aura of his being
to locate his soft skin in my sleep

I am attracted to him like a moth to a light
but only because he keeps me alive in a matter no one seems to grasp

His breath is my breathing
his heartbeat is mine as well.

He fascinates me

Open for edit

Some things
Aren't described
Very easily.
They are
Too delicate
Too beautiful
Fleeting moments of purity, innocence

There are things that can't
Be described anyway simple.
Things that are
Too abstract
Too hard to believe
Disappearing before you fully understand
The massive consequences
It had on your life
Your mind, your body, your soul
Your Being
Your heart.

One of these things
Are the touch
Of your hand
On my quivering skin.

Your kiss is like the softest velvet lingering against my naked skin,
just like your touch is the addicting part, and withdrawal is the hardest thing.
You're beautiful, boy, beautiful like a mothers voice
singing lullabies for her kids at night
you're sexy, boy, sexy like little Lolita's in their short skirts and bare feet;
Fucking forbidden, but oh so tempting.

I've got songs stuck in my head
songs
singing
voices
humming

I've got thoughts stuck in my head
thoughts
thinking
voices
mumbling

I've got OCD in my blood
blood
flowing
OCD
winning

I've got urges, needs and greed
horrible
person
bad
demanding

I've got no clue where I'm going
with this
or that
my life
or yours

I'm just greedy
an egoist
self-centered
selfish
and not deserving

Of you
and all of your healing love.

How do you find the balance, between needing and wanting to say something so badly, but you can't, 'cause asking for it would ruin it all....