my heart has its own unique color, sound and texture. it is woven from frosty silence

you are like an angel; nothing can touch you. or like an evil spirit: everyone fears it, yet no one has seen it. and if anyone has, they are either lying or already driven mad.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏take my blood

no sin – no repentance

melancholy has its own beauty solitude has its own peace

† †

everything i touch turns to ice. living with black-and-white thinking, i didn't notice how the world truly faded into shades of gray, leaving nothing bright in my eyes and stealing the joy from everything colorful

for as long as i exist, i'll be a rotten soul. i'll be the person people regret meeting. i'll be the sin, and i'll be the punishment

once enough irritation accumulates, it will burst out in a destructive way that is impossible to predict. some things are simply beyond control

never beating the off-putting allegations

the horror sets in when i start feeling uncomfortable anywhere. at home, with loved ones, in my own clothes, at the shop, visiting people, while studying. being myself feels bad, and it feels bad everywhere. i want to escape, but i don't know where to

the empty corridor of my fallen soul

several personalities are at war within me: the first craves total isolation and thrives in solitude; the second wants to break out from under the bell jar and stop suffering from meaninglessness; the third, frankly, doesn't care at all. but all of them are me