Rule No. 9: I’m back bitches.

This is the start, of how it all ends.

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it.

I’m speeding up…

And this is the red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart.

 

I’ve avoided writing like the plague. I don’t enjoy being faced with my own stupidity. This journey is a painful reminder of the twists and turns my diseased mind has decided to take.

But I’m still along for the ride.

Because I have no choice.

Because I need to know.

The truth.

A truth.

Any truth.

Alive.

I’m back bitches- did you miss me?

Men really seem to enjoy healthy women. I’m sorry boys- I’m not up for that challenge. I like how I am. And all of my twisted fucked up pieces.

The only thing I need to adjust is the mask that I wear for you. It needs to be more concrete. Not as transparent.

I can do this now that I’ve learned control.

Although control really is an illusion after all. That’s what it’s like to live in my world. You teeter on the edge. Reality on one side and blissful mania on the other.

Who on earth would wish to live so healthily?

Life is better on the edge. Everything is better on the edge.

Alive.

And I know with the path that I’ve chosen no one will be able to walk alongside me. At least in the way that I wish them to. I am forever doomed to a life of –ALONE-. I’m still reconciling how this makes me feel. Am I angry? Am I crestfallen? Or do I just not give two shits. It’s so hard to tell with my nature. Always playing the game. Sometimes I even play myself.

From the day I was born I required more. More everything. More love. More attention. More toys. More boys. More conversation. More action. More, more, more. Monster is hungry. Feed me. Feed the monster.

And if I can’t have the love of any single man- well a million or more that I can!

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