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
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
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