Good, I own you now.
I can’t sleep. Freaking out.
Please please don’t leave me alone with this… this feeling of angry emptiness that isn’t empty at all because it wants to be filled.
…And just like that I disappeared.
I’m getting my messy hands all over your face and it makes me sick.
If I had a dollar for every time someone told me to smile I would:
A. Shoot my own (low budget) film.
B. Buy an apartment in NYC
C. Have shit awesome book room like the one in Beauty and the Beast.
D. Probably never get through counting all those bills and get a lifetime supply of coffee instead.
“I am still, each day further, escaping madness…”
“…I’ll walk there without leaning on you…”
“It’s not about physical strength, it’s how far you’re willing to go.”