Welcome to my upside Down world. Where you can never go wrong.
Ms.Heroin & Her Thief
Esquivel — That Old Black Magic - 1958
(Source: rogerwilkerson)
I miss her. How she was selfish with her emotions. I miss how she could do anything with out feeling any guilt, fear, shame and much more less compassion. I miss how you dared her; she’ll look at you with that stare of “just watch me do it” followed with an enlighten grin. I miss how she would discharge any attempts of sorrow laches of wanted forgiveness. You lost her respect there is no way of changing nor gaining any sort of it back. I miss how she hated those desperate yells of wanting acknowledgement for forgivness from those whom’s perspective were distorted by self acts. I miss how she spoke freely about her thoughts, with an untwisted tongue. No knots at her throat, nor the flattering of butterflies in her stomach. I miss how she saw the world. As simple as two colors. Black and white. I missed how she would lit on view of the only color there would be, which was that of the bursts of random vibrant colors; from her oblivious victim’s soft, tender emotions. I miss her acts of constant unlawful murder to any emotion. I miss how she reenacted the inhuman inconsiderate, Injustices that life thought her in a very young age. I miss how she enjoyed life from the cruelty she implanted. I miss how she craved that of to feel the warmth her blank white heart slowly start to pump color through out her wither numb body. I miss how her constants need of affection made her slowly let go of her cruel ways, so she can feel the love everyone spoke so amazed. I’ll miss that moment when she said “I no longer want to be her” with a bittersweet smile.
