Nobody knows me better than myself. An irony when you know that I do not know myself, that I am in perpetual search of identity.
And I dream of a person who will know better than myself!
I hate when one thinks that I am what I seem to be. A teenager just a little depressed with a dark and macabre humor that always has a background of truth. A carefree kid who loves companionship and crazy love. While I'm just a bitch paumé, stuffed and lonely and probably a little crazy.
I love to lie on the road at night, a bottle in my hand and the amusing and reassuring awareness that a car could roll me on anytime but that the roads from my home are never borrowed past 23h .. .
I constantly tell myself that I would like to die without anyone ever knowing what happened to me. But in fact, I like too much my condition, my pain and my hate ...
I would like people to love me, but I know that no one will ever make it. Indeed, how could one like a person who does not love himself and who is never what he seems to be?