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