You’re so easy to read but the book is boring me.
Your stockings prove your virtues. Be certain they are clean and free of tears.
I’ve learned that I work best when I’m entirely naked. The recording process was done that way.
I’ve been completely fascinated with history because it tells everything about what’s going to happen next because it’s cyclical, everything repeats in general.
I’m a big stupid history nerd.
Why can I never go back to bed? Who’s is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I’m half past dead?
I cut myself because you wouldn’t let me cry. I cried because you wouldn’t let me speak. I spoke because you wouldn’t let me shine. I shone because I thought you loved me...
Then I break a glass and I slit my very innermost thigh so that I can pretend that I’m menstru – well, unavailable.
I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.
Simply put, if you are a Wayward Victorian Girl, I’ll find you.
For this freedom I have given all I had For this darkness I gave my light For this wisdom I have lost my innocence Take my petals And cover me with the night.
I was reading everything under the sun from music history to feminist literature to Shakespeare, which is why I’m not a complete idiot at this time.
I could have guessed it all along, cuz now some drama queen is gonna write a song for me.
History written in pencil is easily erased, but crayon is forever.
Why should I wake when I’m half past dead?
And if I end up with blood on my hands, well I know, that you’ll understand, ’cause I fight like a girl.
My reasons to live Were my reasons to die But at least they were mine Now I’ve freedom unbound Cut the laces of life.
We will paste upon the curled pages words Like charming and romantic and sentimental Forgetting that charming is witchcraft Romantic is love And sentiment is what makes us human.
And, what’s more, this ‘precious’ body, the very same that is hooted and honked at, demeaned both in daily life as well as in ever existing form of media, harrassed, molested, raped, and, if all that wasn’t enough, is forever poked and prodded and weighed and constantly wrong for eating too much, eating too little, a million details which all point to the solitary girl, to EVERY solitary girl, and say: Destroy yourself.
Revenge itself may indeed be the best revenge, but slaying one’s enemy does not give back what they stole.