So give me all your poison
And give me all your pills
And give me all your hopeless hearts
And make me ill
If you find yourself ALONE
CONFUSED
DEPRESSED
...
You can take my body but you can never take my freedom. I don't care about those things, it's my soul that needs saving. Why can't anyone see that? The most beautiful thing I've seen in a long time was the postcards you could get for free at Roskilde. Simple, white cards, with a black old-fashioned font saying "Hvor er du?". That's the fucking question. Where the hell are you? YOU. You who are gonna save me. Or is there even such a thing? Is it just Törnrosa-syndrome waiting round the corner? Waiting for the prince, THE ONE, the right one.
Baby there are no white horses, no shining armour.
Life bleeding on the floor.
Dude, I don't WANT to make it.
I'm not gonna be the one everyone expects me to be. From this point, you never know where you have me. I'm tired of trying so fucking hard. It's over.
If I want to be depressed, I want to.
The blood is just beautiful, perfectly sets the scene.
I don't fucking care. I'm never again "the good girl" alright. Kinda fucked that up when I got caught by the police for smoking pot. I'm just gonna do what feels right to me. Tired of HURTING PEOPLE. Why is it that I'm so good at it, so afraid of it, trying so hard not to but making it anyways?
I smoked a whole package of cigarettes that crazy Red Hot Saturday. Never smoked that much. I don't even like smoking. I was too drunk to care. But I don't care about that. Judge me if you feel so, I'm just tired of judgements, prisons, narrow-mindness. Whatever happens in the world, you gotta deal with it. You got a choice to make it a big thing. Right now, I got this feeling for brutal honesty. So let's make a second confession. Or let's not, cause my sex-life is kinda private, but you might be able to figure with me writing "the emptiness the day after". No, I didn't have sex with a complete stranger, only almost. But that doesn't matter, it didn't mean a shit. I just didn't care.
Not only brutal honesty, there's blood red make-up as well. Chromium lips and metallic eyes.
Is that just because you wanna look that way? I don't give a fuck for image. What is enchanting is the fact that you can actually make people see how you feel just by looking at you. Blood, blood, blood.
No wonder I'm messed up. But that's ok too. Since I am this way, what am I gonna do. Tried so many times to be something else, and found that those persons I've been, I've played, have never really been me. I'm gonna listen now.
Why is it always about being afraid to be alone? Left without friends.
Why is it about fearing emptiness?
Why am I so self-centered that I fail to truly see the world around me?
Want to be needed and loved.
She used to think about how alone people are. Why so isolated when really real close?
Solen i mina vänners liv tycks inte skina på mig. Här är det dov, hotfull åska som mullrar.
I'm not okay (I promise)
