Good morning, fire eater.

Tana and 22 years of age. A blog dedicated to writing.

New writing blog. Deleting this one because my e-mail for this account is expired:

They say we are all made up of star stuff. But I look at you and I want to laugh. Even science has a flaw.

Catch and Release

I have not slept in the past fifteen hours. Shots of espresso runs through my veins, and my eyes are faded; my thoughts a loaded gun while the visualization becomes the trigger. I lay awake in midst of these four walls, upon darkness, as I plummet into the depths and into the sea of nostalgia ready to burst open the memories of things past. And just like that, all of the sudden, I lose grasp of my mania this mind presented me with, as if making home within these schizophrenic episodes suppose to make me better. It has become my blasphemy. I lose my breath, and look around my room as my lips turn numb, and I refuse to turn my head left or right.

They tell me to stop making up these stories, and that I need to start living. But all I can hear is The Strokes blasting in my ears, and these scenarios play before me like a projector. I cut and paste all these images as once, and I smile before the sunrise.

Mediocre, Mediocre

These pseudo personalities match well with their faulty premises - on nonsensical debates pertaining to conspiracies, are just as unbearable as being surrounded by bimbos who gossip through their friend’s ear and out the other; as these practical humans smile so smugly, like every word coming out of their mouth was like some sort of prayer.

I don’t like writing about people, but this day is an exception.

(Source: ninceey, via marilyngee)

I’ll taste the devil’s tears
Drink from his soul, but I’ll never give up you.

(Source: tmshl, via tmshl)


Many years I’ve been a walking prism; many faces I reciprocate and reflect the people in my life. Sometimes I lay awake at night because thousands of my shadows are all slow dancing, and sometimes I feel like the moon because the world is asleep and I become the silver lining of the dark.

Who am I really? Sometimes they ask, and my answer falls in between the lines of not knowing whilst discovering. But you see, I feel invisible and people can see right through me, but not the very essence of my existence. Because we all see what we allow ourselves to see, and everyday I don’t quite see me at all.

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.