write me, like you write a love song.

write my eyes with kindness,

write my mouth with seduction.

just write me like i'm everything to someone.

don't forget the rules, don't make mistakes.

i wanna be perfect.

however, do it with chinese ink.

deep on your skin so that you can't delete me,

and when your body disappear, i will disappear with you.

Leave your mark under my skin

Oh my how strong you are

And feast your eyes on my disdain

And hope this one won't scar

I will never belong to you, again

Push if you still need my pain

Cause I will never tell

And scream if you still hate my name

Cause I'll be where I fell

Come sit close to me,

Let me feel your breath

Come sit close to me

Hands around my neck

If I decide that I am alive

Than I'm diseased and ungrateful

And if I confide that I am a liar

Than I'm diseased and ungrateful

Push in 'til it breaks, if it bleeds then I'll be okay.

Mary Ann Nichols - KILLED!

Annie Chapman - KILLED!

Elizabeth Stride - KILLED!

Catherine Eddowes - KILLED!

Mary Jane Kelly - KILLED!

From hell,

Jack, the Ripper.

everyone has some kind of secrets.

yes, i am saying that there are many types of secrets.

secret thoughts, secret feelings, secret actions, secret lifes.

i'm here thinking of how can someone hide so many things, it should be considered art, honestly.

inside my mind there are so many secrets of so many people who trusted me, and i know that i'm not the only one...

but i'm about to burst out, and if you ever wonder why do i write, there is the answer.

and now you say: "but i don't see any secrets in here".

let me just tell you that the words that i write aren't the words that i really mean to write.

oh well, what the hell do i know about secrets?

i am a fucking open book!

love is a very strange word, sometimes i wonder what does it mean.
no one knows, i think.
if we think hard we don't know the meaning of many things, and everything we know is because of what we believe. so those who say that they don't believe in anything at all are lying, every human believes in something, because if they didn't then they would be dead.
everything we say, everything we think and do only happens because of faith (and by the way it is a very strange word too). or maybe this is all wrong and it is only me who thinks like this.
i don't know.
tonight someone told me that i have very odd thoughts but i don't think so, i think that you are all bizarre, not me.
i feel lost everytime, and the people who have the ability to find me are the people that i believe.

the ceeling is the floor that nobody steps.