Thursday, February 24, 2011

pink dress

Du bist mein anderes ich, du bist mein zweites gesicht...

On that note, my life is fucking wonderful. Why? because I am going to WONDERLAND. Wonderland. And that's somewhere Emilie Autumn could never get to. She's a poser, a failure, a liar. She's no Alice. She never was. Her precious Asylum is a lie, it doesn't even belong to her. She couldn't get to Wonderland so she made a reality of her own, but she didn't even make it a reality. She's a sell-out. A slut. She's not asexual, she's straight and loves to fuck men but she's too afraid to admit it. Well, she can admit that she fucks men, but she doesn't want to say she actually likes them. I still love her music and her book, but like Marilyn Manson said about the Bible, The Asylum is great literature. That's all. I used to believe her. She's not Wonderland-like at all. She probably thinks Wonderland will accept her, thinks that she's so special and amazing, just because her last name is Liddell. No, I am not jealous. I am angry.

Anyway, I need to prove that I have self-control. Why? It has to do with Wonderland. I have three possibilities of how to prove this, one of which will not work out anymore. Would have been great, though... Anyway, the two options I have left are food and sleep. Proving this matters especially after I turn fifteen. Oh, one more major test of self-control is controlling my anger. Really should work on that...

I'm not in looove, nor am I obsessed... I'm just very, very disappointed... God won't help me in matters like this. But I'm not like Marilyn Manson, thank God... I'm just a girl, playing the suicide Alice... That makes sense to idiots like me

I had six cups of tea in less than an hour and I couldn't be happier. Well, I COULD but god won't fucking allow it

Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice

Alice. Dream-Alice. My dream-Alice. Lewis Carroll's dream-Alice.

I wish I was Hungarian...

I wish I was finished my novel studies project...

I wish I was a little girl...

I can be a little girl... Psychologically, anyway... Maybe... I'll try...

They said it's suicide... She's trapped inside her mind... She tastes like cyanide... Poisoned right through

1 comment:

  1. I know exactly what you mean about wanting to be like little girls again. I'll join you in that quest.

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