There is pain further than pain. There is a mechanical pain, a pain that hurts not hurting at all, making you go along life but missing something deep.
There is a beatless pain. There is a pain grabbing you by the throat. But silently, so you can't yell.
There is a pain not too big, it never fully seizes, but it is there.
Constant turning of the ***** that won't make you cry, but they do oppress. Obsess. Obsess. Obsess. They oppress like few things more. You cried in pain, and you discover now there are worst realities than pain: the cryless anguish, the wordless complaint, the oblivion of loss. Will you come out of this?
Most important of it all: who will come? Will you come out alive?
And the ghosts of the past, alive tonight
Me, looking at daddy's ***
Me, thinking I am a necrophile
Me, swooning over Gaspard Ulliel
Me, being free
Me, signing my death
Me, in your bed -happy like I had never been-
Me, lost in the dark convoluted corridors
Me, about to break in parts
Me, 14 in the car, daddy is telling me that if I go madder he'll get mad in turn
Me, going psychotic
Me, atonement by the flesh
And nothing could be worst than this
the past all over me
No way to flee...
