i forget about everything

something went wrong. I am sucked by the reality so I am gone to my own with eternal cloudy sounds of Marina and the Diamonds' pop, girlish and egoistic like other teenage girl's dreams. I forget being polite, I am always just myself, with no troubles and with turquoise hair. mint clouds are chasing me with their diamond shining glitter, they taste like vanilla cake with fairy tale weightless cream and a cherry on the top. it gives me delicious felling of liberty. I am mad. I am mad. I am mad. I am mad in my feminine sunny world of the 70s.

just like I am from Cinderella's story, I forget who i am and where i am from, so i play little princess with gold hair and Hollywood smile in the story with happy end: i meet Prince and marry him. but isn't this story fake? is Cinderella acting like other women, isn't her eyes surrounded by eyelashes cartoon and doll? she is not real, but i don't believe it. more precisely, i don't want to stop believing in fake tales. they fill me with emotions, without them i am... empty. emptiness will be flowing in my veins like blood.

the faith is a strong part of my existence. if i don't believe, i would not exist, my mind would dissolve in the Universe like the sugar dissolves in a cup of tea. if i want to keep my faith alive, i make up my own world of Wonderland and sweet cakes. i reread the Little Mermaid for milliard times and dream about eternal love that kills to be more infantile and naïve (why do i do that, God?). it is scary for me to be an adult, i want to be a child, but one piece of me is serious and grown-up so it gives normal sense, meaning to all events happening around me.

just give up. you're blind, girl. you can't see the truth. you're just eating when the problems came on your head like an unexpected rain in the sunny summer day. you're stupid and you know it but you argue with yourself when you think about it. oh thanks for advice, dear brains. i will think about it.

i have fun in Wonderland where Alice lived but the reality scare me. it is bad to feel myself not cozy in my real home and to feel cozy in my made-up home. strange, isn't it?



just be