But I Saw The Pain And Sadness

I Don't See What's So Good About Being Genuine. Clog Dancing Is Genuine. Isn't Being Fake More Of An Achievement? At Least It Takes Some Inspiration. Like, Sherbet Dips, They're A Special Food. Think Of All The Additives And Coloring And Grinding That It Takes To Create A Sherbet Dip. But Carrots? They're Just Out There, Shrieking, "hi, We're Some Carrots! Love Us For It!" They Never Have To Prove Themselves.

I Envied Women With Signature Hair-dos, Signature Perfumes, Signature Sign-offs. Novelists Who Tell Vogue Magazine: “i Can’t Live Without My Smythson Notebook, Pomegranate Noir Cologne By Jo Malone And Frette Sheets”. In The Grip Of Madness, Materialism Begins To Look Like An Admirable Belief System.

I Want You To Stay. I Never Want There To Be A Time When We Don't Share Space.

It Is Madness. And If You Don't Know Who You Are, Or If Your Real Self Has Drifted Away From You With The Undertow, Madness At Least Gives You An Identity. It's The Same With Self-loathing. You're Probably Just Normal And Normal-looking But That's Not A Real Identity, Not The Way Ugliness Is. Normality, Just Accepting That You're Probably Normal-looking, Lacks The Force Field Of Self-disgust. If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.

Are You Mine?” Yes. “are You Mine?” Yes. “are You Mine?” No. “no?” No. I Loved Being Yours. But Now I’m Mine, Which Is All I Ever Was, In The End.