Be the careless fool, it stings less.
Passions are fickle. Histories will be recycled and new stories be told, just like people. They come and go. Nothing is sustainable. Eternity is the song in which every romanticists sing when it rains doubt. Hope - such a vital thing, but one of the most dangerous, quietest death one may ever experience.
I’ve forced myself to seldom care. I forced myself to put up a cold front. I forced myself to quiet my mind and speak little. I forced myself to be cautious of the experiences life has thrown in turbulent waters, but also has blessed me with.
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
Don’t believe the words. Don’t even try to figure me out. My tongue will slice words into parts, and the only truth you shall witness is the sensation I get from manipulating the synonyms into masks; masks I wear for many occasions. A chaotic war of bloodbath, to a bedroom filled with foreplay, with words being the sheets, I will only bury what lies beneath. Silence has become my forte, and my eyes will strip you naked until I see the essence of what makes you vulnerable. You don’t know me, and you never will.
I’m Tana Katherine, last name shall be confidential.
Finally, freedom and words will dance once again. A realist who has been let down by the many dreams unfixed. An artist who has a wanderlust for the unknown, tied down by conventional ideas of society. A tea lover by night; coffee enthusiast in the morning. I live inside my head because it is the only thing that makes sense.