my past is written on my wrists. 

and not just in the form of haphazard tattoos emulating what i may want my skin to be like some day. This record of my history is inscribed, dancing along the ripples of my veins.. It's painful, sad, and the only thing that makes sense to me.
It's sadistic art, or, just sadistic i know. It's a terrible, awful selfish thing but i can't help from doing it-i tried for so long to fight in but now i just need to give in. It's my lustful affliction. It's my main infatuation, my only addiction.

 People don't tend to see it. Maybe they just block them out-it's too much to deal with. i know, i've been there with others
             i'm such a hypocrite

i can never decide if i want someone to ask me about it or not- i know i don't want my parents to know. It would kill them.
But i like people to know about my past-empathy is a good thing.
Maybe i just like the attttention.
i really don't know. i try not to think about that.

But, you know. It's just a phase. 

                                       

                                                                                                                     i never write more than two             posts in one day...i like saving ideas for the future. But wasn't there a great some sort of influential person who said that putting off writing or art or anything for a day with better circumstances never worked? Besides, this way i'm actually inspired.

Vice#6 the.edge