Would you rather work at a large company or a small one?

Small one.

Do you see me as a man or a woman?, Why?

Do you believe in angels?

In some forms, yes.

Do you see me as a man or a woman?, Why?

What's your favorite genre of music?

Electro euro trash<3

Do you see me as a man or a woman?, Why?

If you could only read one magazine for the rest of your life, which would it be?

.....smut X}

Do you see me as a man or a woman?, Why?

A Promise

I’m happy because I finally found out who my real friends were and they weren’t you. I’m happy because I’ve come to realize it was more than I had originally planned. Too much, too late; no regrets except for one: not making you mine when I had the chance.
This was a bitter sweet victory and I expect the prize without having to fight the battle.
But you’re worth every struggle I have made.
And if it was within my power I’d do anything to stop your pain, to prevent further harm or hurt.
Pre-conceived notions; fate came too late.
You hold the keys but I’m still sealed shut and I know you would do anything to pick that lock.
The answers are clearer than you think, you hold my key; use it.
I would give anything to be the reason for you to smile, to call you home, to step in time.
To have a chance at some sort of sordid role reversal, the vines are forever twisting.
Thorns in palms, images and symbolism taunt me; I dream of you when others are on my mind and in my presence.
Jealousy rears its ugly head but I know that he’s merely a doll for you to shake. Deep down you’re starving for something, for anything.
This helplessness drives me crazy; distance hinders my aid.
Scars represent things I can’t fix, physical and emotional, even ones that extend my own creation. But I’d still like to try, in vain. And if I had the chance I’d like to take you pain away<3

The Truth In It, Is The Trick In It

Admiration is a bitter pill, so shut your mouth and swallow.
Take a deep breath, gulp, and ignore the stinging in your eyes; gasp, the stinging in your mind.
You will become well accustomed to the after taste soon enough (everyone does). There are truths in the tricks you play on others.
Shut your mouth and open your eyes, the life you’ve “lived” you’ve found to be a lie; no surprise.
We don’t want affection (hold your tongue) all we want is satisfaction (curb your impulse).
Take a gamble (sell your soul) no commitment is needed (keep up the charade if you can’t play the game).
You’ve plucked my strings and strain my vocal cords.
Was that the reaction you were expecting?

Gluttonous Aftermath

I wake only to be engulfed by sleep, a decrease in consciousness due to a lack of perceptual awareness.
White lights, bright lights, bright black light engulfs all.
And that’s when my medication starts to kick in; as the hours pass dwindling with time, desires for what I cannot possess haunt me.
Rewind and then fast forward to the present; yet another drink in hand, all ambition gone.
I’m starting to lose my grip, I’m running on empty again but I’ll never learn from its scorn.
There’s dryness in the back of my mouth and in my chest.
I used to feel things, I think.
I drank from a glass that was half empty and I felt guilt for not being entirely whole upon consumption; I never aimed to be full.
I felt guilt for what I had taken, what I had left, and when there was nothing left to take at all.
I’m on an insomniac high that I never want to come down from; reality only brings me further toil, scenes of human passion(s) flickering behind my subconscious, painting my wants vividly.
And sometimes I think it’s better to hold off.
To just close off entirely; shut down for business, no one lives here anymore.
Don’t come again, you’re not welcome.
But my emotions seem to be running rampant run on’s I can’t fix.
I seem to be blinded by the glow of others…and I tried to steal it for myself.
All of the hallucinogens in the world could not confirm the confines of my mind; however I too am confined.

Violent Acts Of Passion

Love is healing one another’s wounds; to create new ones in return and heal them too, in time; to mend the unbroken and to break the unbreakable.
My heart has been an open wound for years and could use some mending.
So please don’t refrain from cutting it open for all to see.
Split the artery in two; you’re just opening old wounds, picking at capillaries. I’ve bled and I’ll continue to bleed for you; a crimson promise never to be broken despite the broke person that made it.
Just say the word and I’ll commit violent acts of passion for you.
I’m content bleeding just for you.
Like Evan and Brian, hold your dagger high because this too won’t end without a fight and let’s seal this with blood.
Mutilation never looked so flattering.
My name in your skin never looked so tempting.
You’re blushing at the prospect of this violent elation; stop being so careless with someone who isn’t at all careful.
In the end, we only mirror each others actions and I can see your cracks; those are the acts we always fall to commit.
You should be more careful, I’d gladly bleed for you.

(Im)perfect Perfections

Conceal the imperfections and cover-up the flaws;
painting over what we have come to know oh so dearly.
“Why bother with this painful process? you’re merely a façade lacking any interest.”, he said.
Her response was, “I’m just putting on my face.”
Create, cut, and paste yourself into a newfound tainted identity.
Manipulate yourself a new soul.
And her response was, “Don’t mind me; I’m just putting on my face.”
Applying your own sanity back piece by piece;
oh, it’s what you’ve com to know; an infinite disguise;
a blank canvas so very hollow but equally as transparent.
Accentuate your imperfect being and try to take away the empty.
The pieces never quite stay together.

Vogue Consumerism (Don’t Believe The Hype)

If you don’t believe it buy it, you’ve already bought the lie.
Conceal the circles under your eyes and deny all hindrance on your previous life. Why waste time with realism when you can fake it?
In reality, you’re a product of wasted time.
False advertising at its best.
Sales at an all time high, egos at an all time low; satisfaction guaranteed.
We’re at an all time “high” of hit-or-miss counter culture where our over-the-counter prescriptions speak for themselves.
Artificial drugs for manufactured and pre-fabricated dreams.
We wear our emotions via status updates and through the labels on designer clothes; online portals into boredom.
We destroy for the pursuit of re-creation.
You are what you feel but where is the validation in that when all you do it steal. Do you feel special?
You’re only as good as you make yourself out to be.

If there isn't anything you've got to lose after the bargain, then what have you lost? If there's little to gain, what are you gaining in return?

Does absence make the heart grow fonder or resentful?

The Dying Art That Is Romanticism, Is Our Only Salvation

Misery loves company but when you're with me, it's a sordid sort of apathy. All great things must come to an end; I enjoyed them at the time because they don't last forever; because in my mind they remain immortal. In my mind we are left with a reminder of a perfect ending that never came. An evening ruined in discord, a night of ultimate pleasure and a morning that never came after nor saw the break of dawn; it didn't stand a chance. And neither did we; we did as we pleased, we came and gone but we never left. What was left was not meant to be found. However, what I did find was something left uncovered; I found a voice through her but I didn't speak to her; I used it for other things. When she left I was speechless, all of my words were stolen. I couldn't get past the choking. I tried to find solace in her; I found no one. I tried to salvage what I could of my intentions; I didn't like what I found. You've stripped me of everything; my talents rendered useless. "I have little use for users that use-less," you say. You were a mistake; a mis-take on what should have been. The holes in my skin beg to differ, the fact that I ever felt complete; I always find myself in times of desperation, attempting in vain to feel whole.

Disillusionment Of The Impending End Thru the Eyes Of A Viper

Put me in a paper cup and throw me out to sea.
But no matter where you place me, know that my displacement will stretch f a t h e r t h e n t h e e y e c a n s e e. You come and go; topsy turvey deliriums running rampant.
Your personality changing like wall paper; you shift to blend in with the trees.
The bi-polarity of it all peeling from the walls and breaking—at—the—seams.
As you cast me away to a distant detachment,
know that if I drown you won’t find me where you dropped me.
Rock bottom never hit so hard.
Short of breath and the originality to make that ailment genuine.
No more cards to lay out on the table;
no more tricks to pull; you think that you’re going to be able to convince me there’s a rabbit in that hat. However, the tongue of the serpent runs thick.
You are what you hate; hate who you are.
Your own disillusionment has backfired like a misaligned train track.
The road to nowhere was distinguishable long ago.
So throw me out to the sea, and as you watch me plunder with clarity know that my dissatisfaction will stretch farther than you can stretch for me.

Foolish Little Girl

Let’s put voyeurism to shame and silently watch one another asphyxiate while the other isn’t looking, and for once I’ll finally give into the warped role play.
I watch trains at night, their wheels spinning like long forgotten clocks on cubicle walls.
I try to get away from the lucid nightmares conjured by my sweet—turned—sour Lolita pipedream;
but my means of coping have proved to be old escape route, closed off and forgotten.
Bordered up and devastated without remorse; only a few traces of graffiti as evidence of what was.
It’s a sign of the times.
Do the holes in your hands make you feel any better about the hole in your head?
A-void infinite vacuum soul suck (turn off and unplug)
Does filling the hole in between your legs make you feel whole?
You’re just foisting a bed of forget—me—not’s and thorned roses.
I was not yet aware of being part of this circus but the constant focus is on you under a spotlight and it’s become quite clear that you’re the main attraction.
You’re childhood innocence had me bound like a bundle of tightly bound bricks;
carelessly tossed to the bottom of a well that I c o u l d n o t l o o k u p f r o m.
Well worn but function doubtful; dubbed utterly useless.
Little girl’s small hopes bring about large problems that go unsolved.
And as fixation came to possess you to the point of delirium you dared to call it adoration.
You only ended up puppeting me under that guise;
you haven’t changed at all, you still strain to call it “love”;
you’re a foolish little girl.

The World Is But A Stage For Our Mutilation

Joystick genitals, pressbuttontocum.
I want sex without attachments but you’re pulling my strings; puppeteering my ego.
Our intimacy is staged for all to see so here’s to the curtain call.
Solitary pleasure for the sole needs of one.
Mimicking faked forms of union we see up upon the silver screen.
You want affection, all we want is satisfaction.
Dining on an illusion we can’t seem to discard,
only thrown away for the promise of a quick—fix—pleasure—binge.
Faceless euphoria when I have you with your back turned, blind attraction with thoughtless submission. I loved you best with your ankles shackled and your arms sprawled across the floor;
like a stranded sailor headed towards their newly found paradise straddled by a born again Christian reaching_for_Jesus.
Together our revelations screamed betrayal.
{Your possession makes me feel like I’m needed.}
When left with your selfish selfless desire I’m charmed.
Lights on us, who would dare questions this private role reversal?
No flowers will be thrown at the end of the act so save the bouquet.

Unrequited Mix Tape Romance

Look what has happened to our mix-tape-love;
we can no longer record, we've finally run out of tape.
There is nothing left to document.
Push me, play me. Pause me, rewind me.
But once the tape is full, I no longer have use.
Modern advances concur with me.
Why are you playing my tape forever on repeat, when you could have some shiny new development?
Maybe a record if you're feeling reminiscent.
But out mix-tape-love is undownloadable.
It may be outdated and it might not be efficient but it's special.
Mix tape please don't break on me in a world of iPods and radios.
My faith in you is unmemorable.
Transmit this wish because we don't want to bother with digital.
You bring meaning to my obsolete existence; don’t stop playing me.

The Deadliest Sin

I drank the river dry and I felt no guilt no remorse for my actions.
I plucked the feathers from the gilded bird and felt nothing but contempt for my consumption.
You waited for what was promised but I never conceited to giving in, I only took away.
You should think twice before trying to possess what is already consumed and accounted for.
I am forever golden.

Epitaph For The Blind

I want to recreate the perfect moment; give a new meaning to the word “cinematic”. I want to capture the innocence of a first kiss and bring back the dying art that is romanticism. I want to steal all the color from your photographs and make you learn to appreciate the black and white in your life. I want to breathe that last breath you give when you meet you’re demise and cease to exist. I want to take the light from your glow and keep it for myself. I want to pick at old wounds for comfort and convince you to never question my motives or the consequences. And I want, and I want until I become sickened with myself. But I’m greedy, I’m greedy and what I crave is to be consumed. I want a void where the soul is infinite and the pathways endless. I want to be comfortable in my confusion and mad with my sanity. I want stagnant and stasis to be dismissed and hunger and longing embraced. But I’m greedy, I’m greedy and what I crave is to be consumed.