Part Two

And really, I went through this often. I never think about the B-side of an album. Perhaps it isn't really important to me. The curious cat in me wants to know that shadow, wants to MARRY that shadow, but my own is so riddled with wormholes I know I can never be too sure about one thing. Especially with this illness.

Writing is math- it's quite simple. To become the ultimate writer, one must read and annotate every classic, BECOME Sylvia Plath in the most inappropriate way, call blasphemy on God and read Catcher in the Rye like IT was the bible. You must starve yourself of every physical necessity, including true love. You musn't fear the void you must actually become it. You must know the ceiling patterns like you know the veins in your arms. You must celebrate the same phrase graced by music for weeks upon weeks until it becomes the only thing you can say to people and they force you into the mental hospital. 

It was just the timing of things. I was still a princess at fourteen, I didn't know how to be a queen yet. This king was trying to knight me before my time, and somehow I was made to regret and be punished for my title. And yet - the funny thing - he wanted to feed my addiction today. And all I can think about were the moths in my stomach on the way home - looking at my reflection and thinking loudly, "nobody really wants that". 

There are some things I cannot immortalize. There isn't a word for that brown shade. Electricity can't come close to defining what this boy made me feel. My emotions weren't flowing they were being projectile vomited. I can be so sure about some things. And this isn't Effy talking. 

Everyone seems to think I'm intelligent. I think emotionally, I'm beyond my time (naturally- thanks Dad) but the rest is just gargling words I barely know the meaning of and spray painting a smile over my cement scowl. Permanence of the insanity driven cynic inside me. The only person I truly know myself to be. She can tear your walls down with a passing glance. She's deadly and she knows it. I guess it's a good thing she's dead now.