unbridled [completed]

seven: b i t t e r .

mirrors didn't lie, not one bit.

now that i open my eyes, the artists try to mask their emotions into one of pity. false pity. with every layer that conceals their pore, they emulate themselves into their character.

the nauseating perfume of the incense stick combined with their mentality makes me want to purge.

it was a b i t t e r relevation.

"it sickens me to no end, angus. it sickens me." the scot laughs and tries to tame my hair to suit the texture of the geisha's. today, we were enacting the first scene of the japanese play.