Truth is.... Truth is,
I’m fucking winging it.
I don’t have a master plan on how that this should go or what I want it to become. I’m giving it up to naturality.
Everyone is so wrapped up in the black and white contrast of life and mortality; forgetting that grey resides in actuality.
But how can I fault a characteristic that is long foretold before my own.
I am the well known and often spoken of, hypocritical specimen you read about in horror books.
I see the world in her unapologetic glory, but relish in her plastic flaws; however, not in vanity.
I admire her rather.
I look up to her bravery to be exactly who she is without gods allowance of perceived trajectorial fear.
To be who she innately is without care of repercussional sneer.
To be who I am without a fuck of the proverbial acceptance sphere.
Please my dear, do the same while you’re here.
Goodnight my fellow misfits of the night.