Beaty of pain, that is my artistic expresion
Hey, Baudelaire, you old son of a bitch, you can do better, can´t you?
Hey, Trisha, you wonderowul women, starting to jump over the edge, close to the point where everything is odi at amo. My fifth muse. The sweetest pain, which brings me closer to the end.
There will be nine of them, nine is the number which will bring my death.
I am looking forward to it, with my smile painted by shadow, with my theatrical affection, with my melted mask, witch pictures from blood of my dead vampire lover, in the symphony of ravens scream, I cry, I smile, I still believe in fullfilment. Hoping that emotion will come again and drawn me, ´cose this is the only way I wanna live.
I feel - no, I am scared - that what I desire for can never be fulfilled, but can´t the hope, ´cose if I would, the pain would be lost, I could be happy again and it brings me no satisfaction. But this neverlasting insecurity with possibity, with fear of step forward, with the vision of lost, with her face right infornt of me...
... ou, man, I hope it will go klonger and deeper and that will be much more intensive and much mre painful and I am so fucking looking forward for the destruction which it can brings, ´cose even if the apparent me would be live in real despair, my crazy myself, the real me, will be shout for joy and dance in this mirraculous misery, which brings me the fucking inspiration and live to all bullshits i am spitting out of my head.
