I love, therefore, I writhe.

I and despair;
an endless love affair.


My feet stay still but my thoughts run wild. To be in the state of stationary while your mind not; that's art. One of the things to feel lucky about being human. My words are so fond of residing in my mind, they barely peek out of my mouth. It's why I'm always quiet. Fragile minds hold the greatest irony. They wear solitude like a perfume to cover the stench of their catastrophic emptiness; a being that preys on hollowed chests— 


While their sanity are forever chained at the throat.






(by the way, hi Nad.)