I covet the hideous cult of fame. Spending my days in despondent cafés manically scribbling passionate love letters to recognition.
I'm not in love I'm insane.
Suffering from self-diagnosed misunderstood artist syndrome. My heart cries silent. I am a shadow in the distance. Warped, distorted and dark I scream alone; never to be touched.
I am a poser, a fame ****** and a hero worshiper. My vitriol view on the world hinders me. Constantly on the verge of crying in public. Staring at train tracks, they invite me away. Looking more comfortable then a bed.
I try to live in the now but the future petrifies me. I can't escape my own mind.
Y culture, My culture, Counter culture, **** culture, Love culture, Hate culture, Phonies.
I can’t see past the haze of disappointment I have designed myself. I smoke **** because it relaxes me, makes me feel like what I assume normality feels like. I drink because it makes me feel like how I assume those happy people feel. I take heroine because it makes me feel euphoric and takes me close enough to death that I want to live another day.
A brutal fear beats my anaemic mind. A peculiar fear grips my inner-self and I can’t bear to open my eyes and see that I had survived the night. I become saddened by the thought that I might also survive the day, living to see what I will be tomorrow.
Happy in the madness. Longing for that sick feeling. In love with the sadness. Searching in the dark recesses of the mind for inspiration. I can’t see past my fate, it’s too dark. I sit and source inspiration through the emotions and physical fits of ************ Self-abuse. Clawing for red gold in the catacombs that meander through my pale arms.
Beat myself out of sight beat me out of sight beat me beat me till I float. Beat me beat me till I float.
I am a poser, a fame ****** and a hero worshiper. My vitriol view on the world hinders me. Constantly on the verge of crying in public. Staring at train tracks, they invite me away. Looking more comfortable than a bed.
Relapse is fine by me. I want this. I want this. I want this. I want this. Not a tortured artist just tortured. Not a tortured soul just a cracked shell. In the name of art but in the corner of sickness.
Beat myself out of sight beat me out of sight beat me beat me till I float. Beat me beat me till I float.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
I covet the hideous cult of fame. Spending my days in despondent cafés manically scribbling passionate love letters to recognition.
I'm not in love I'm insane.
Suffering from self-diagnosed misunderstood artist syndrome. My heart cries silent. I am a shadow in the distance. Warped, distorted and dark I scream alone; never to be touched.
I am a poser, a fame ****** and a hero worshiper. My vitriol view on the world hinders me. Constantly on the verge of crying in public. Staring at train tracks, they invite me away. Looking more comfortable then a bed.
I try to live in the now but the future petrifies me. I can't escape my own mind.
Y culture, My culture, Counter culture, **** culture, Love culture, Hate culture, Phonies.
I can’t see past the haze of disappointment I have designed myself. I smoke **** because it relaxes me, makes me feel like what I assume normality feels like. I drink because it makes me feel like how I assume those happy people feel. I take heroine because it makes me feel euphoric and takes me close enough to death that I want to live another day.
A brutal fear beats my anaemic mind. A peculiar fear grips my inner-self and I can’t bear to open my eyes and see that I had survived the night. I become saddened by the thought that I might also survive the day, living to see what I will be tomorrow.
Happy in the madness. Longing for that sick feeling. In love with the sadness. Searching in the dark recesses of the mind for inspiration. I can’t see past my fate, it’s too dark. I sit and source inspiration through the emotions and physical fits of ************ Self-abuse. Clawing for red gold in the catacombs that meander through my pale arms.
Beat myself out of sight beat me out of sight beat me beat me till I float. Beat me beat me till I float.
I am a poser, a fame ****** and a hero worshiper. My vitriol view on the world hinders me. Constantly on the verge of crying in public. Staring at train tracks, they invite me away. Looking more comfortable than a bed.
Relapse is fine by me. I want this. I want this. I want this. I want this. Not a tortured artist just tortured. Not a tortured soul just a cracked shell. In the name of art but in the corner of sickness.
Beat myself out of sight beat me out of sight beat me beat me till I float. Beat me beat me till I float.
