recuperate

all the time in the world, all the money that we have, can never give back what is loss.

though it seems precious to all, we care not where it befalls. we canter to its limit, jog through all the ticks and yet never are we to remind ourselves of the time we have spent idle. lost. quiet. rested. dead
looking back, i have been foolish.
shot down by the haters. i am been left hollow
outcast, deserted,reprimanded, in short, hated.

honestly, i have left the world of fashion.
i know its not for me.
but I'm sucked back in.
i am voided.
jagged. wounded.

i miss having a place of my own. a place to hide from the torturous reality which we exist to knock each other down, to discourage the powerful and disarm the faithful.we are impure of hate. whatever happen, we can never erase such facts. what are we really? we envy and destroy oneself towards what purpose? to succeed while others fail? we hate therefore were human? compassion does not exist. such delusions are of mythical proportions. LIES. never trust a stranger. if we don't then who are we to trust? a mirrored harlot of oneself?

to hate and to prosper.
that's what is suppose to be.
to succeed is to destroy
that is reality.

au revoir mon cheri.
Je suis le diable
ne pas le ange