Goodbye.
I guess that's just the way life goes.

I love you all and I can't thank everyone enough for all you've done for me.

I shall return <3

Love,
Sistyn.

No matter how hard I try I always manage to hurt someone.

Why is this always my fault? Am I really that horrid that I hurt people without even trying?

Why must I always be the fucking villain in every damn story?

The muse I waited so long to see is going to be returning shortly before I leave this city.

And the art that I promised myself would happen will not happen after his feet touch the desert from the European sky.

Here's to patience and here's to hope.

You wonder how much your friends really value you when they can't be bothered to see you even after you've been AWOL for some time.
And when, on top of that, it's the first time you're actually really free to spend time with them.

What a lovely fucking vacation.

I have a problem with saying goodbye.
I need closure.
I always need closure and when it's denied...destruction which is never final. Cycle of mental self-destruction.

I don't want to see that bus stop.

And there are still so many things I want to say to you. I still feel the need to hold you and tell you I love you. I need to beg for forgiveness, like ( Read more... )

What's the unretrievable worth?
What is an unforgivable sin worth?
What is beauty worth at all? I question its existence.

I stand motionless in a parade of falling rain, your voice I cannot hear, as I am falling again.

What is knowledge worth? What is talent worth?
What is a good, caring and patient heart worth?
What is unconditional love worth?
Does ( Read more... )

People will never stop until they get burned,

again and again and again.

Everyone is addicted to pain and tragedy.

I am enslaved by an apocalyptic muse who cloaks himself in silence ( Read more... )

You know what?

Karma is a total bitch.

"An eye for an eye..."
makes the world go round.

On the constant quest for drama maybe?

Unfortunately,
I do feel slightly Dubai-sick.
I know all my friends are back in town.
Probably with many a drunken story.
They're buying all their rolls of film, bottles of Indian ink and rare bamboo brushes, plus overpriced sketchbooks.
They're bitching about their schedules.
They're sneaking cigarettes, they're ( Read more... )