Past Lives.

Ever think that you had past lives? I always think I do. It might explain the fright of being killed by a car, my paranoia of walking by myself on the street, and my personality. xD

I think I was part of the french aristocracy at one point. That would explain the weird dreams about poofy dresses. I lived in new york, I smoked and I had a cat. I had a husband that cheated on me. I had a love that worked out. I had a collection of dolls. I had been killed. I slit my wrists before. I have stared into countless eyes. I am fickle.

Today:
I live in Los Angeles. I hate my life. I have a fright of being kidnapped, run over, or dying alone. My name is Vicki. My name is Juliet VanSchulear. My heart is indominated. I am still as free as hell. I am still as shy as hell. I am a tomboy. I am a prep. I am goth. I am an otaku. I am a neat freak. I am a nerd. I am horribly bad at talking to people. I give off too much poise. Everyone thinks Im weird. I am the anti fashionista. I am the beauty queen. I have been acting perfectly since the day I was born. I am a compulsive lier. I adapt your personalities. My life comes from chaos. I live on the power of love, destruction, and the undying pursuit of happiness. I live on coffee, tv, and my computer. I live off of my blog. I have no friends. No best friends. I am a cat. I am a dove. I am pink. I am blue. I am your nemisis and your ally. I am tired. I have a life and its right here. Its all on this blog. Most of my life can be traced back through my thoughts.

If they ever do invent freezing someone before they die, I want to be dressed in a satin, frilly, girly nightgown forever clutching my teddy bear. No where to run, no where to hide. 8:22 is the time when hearts are broken. 2.8.0.8. are the times when hearts are broken. 3:00 AM is the time when hearts are broken. 3:00 PM is when they feign apology. 6:35 is when they confess. 12:09 is when they are rejected. 35. 35. 35. 35. 35. 35. 35. One hundred years before I can die. I still have years to go. I still have a ways to go. I still have my letter with the fill in the blank in my top right drawer. Just waiting. Again. It's nice to be left behind because I am alone. Alone. Left. Alone. All. Alone. And it starts again. Wake up in the morning. All. Alone. No hugs. No pity. No empathy. Empty words, thoughts. Hallowed smiles and laughs. Arrogance, desolation. Isolation. Do not pity me, for it is always like this. Left alone, behind, somewhere, mute, weak, slow, blind, heartless, defenseless. Drag me along to throw away like a rag doll. I could cry, but I never cry. I never cry, ever. For crying is a sign of weakness and I am not weak. I can kill you in competition. Dont drag me along and dont leave me alone. Because if you do, then I will cry. For the first time, in a long time, I will cry.

You are talking to a poet

The loneliest on of the group

Because I didnt want a group

Mutual reasoning.

Love me. Dont pity my piety.

-Juliet