i'm a nice girl i'm a bad girl, i'm a fuck up, i'm an artist. I have no life. I can't get no satisfaction. With or without you. I need action cuz I'm immobile I'm stabilized I am fucking sedated. i'm hurt and I'll say it however i want to. I want an audience of no one. I just need the noise im fucking tired of the echo of who i was up my ass about who i am and in my head telling me who the fuck I should be. I used to be a fucking wonder. Now I'm just a puddle, just rubble, just remnants. A broken tradition like a broken rule. I was a rebel to my causes and now I have none. I'm just the shadow not the substance. The shell without the spirit. The beauty without the heart. Ugly. Duckling.

unaccomplished and scattered

I guarantee you that:
a) there is nothing special about me
b) there is nothing particularly unique or different about me that would set me apart from countless other people
c) there is nothing inside
d) there is no hope for these simple truths to be altered. They are what they are.
e) I have happened a thousand times before
f) and I will happen a thousand times again

it sits heavy in me it stretches so far back that its genesis is hazed out into indecipherable glimpses into an inconsolable psyche-  a psyche that rewinds and replays incidents- scenes that are half understood and half imagined:
Train rides to the apartment of a Moroccan papa,
weed
Moet
cigarettes
station wagons
the projects
french vanilla ice cream dreams.
These are staples of a reminiscent diet, that in the end will consume me. I keep wandering back abandoning myself, trying to get to keys and doors and secret notes. Sometimes it is all ink on a page, with little evidence to support that it ever even happened. I orbit these notions, am consumed, bent and burned out from the inside by these notions. And at the center of the universe, is the sum of space, matter and time.
Mother.
The true genesis- from 9 months gestation to 19.79 years of living.
I have loved and hated you.

Skull x Horiveira