Urban renewal. It's a dream, no? Then why don't you just renew my mind? I feel old inside, all shrivelled and gross like an aged leaf. I need so many things, feel like I should be plugged up to multiple machines squirting obnocious liquids into my veins just to keep me awake, pumping life back into my deadened arteries, bringing spruce of life into my brain. I can't keep alive anymore, this is draining me, slowly slowly surely but surely. Today I put on my new tights and lied to myself that hey, I felt like a totally new person. New style, new hair, new clothes, definitely new perspective. But suddenly I look around and all I see is a haze of pain and faces that I can't ever read. I'm not me. I'm this totally blurred and grey image and phantom that believes that change is possible, when it obviously it isn't. I'm not gonna' pretend. I'm not even gonna' try to pretend. Next year will be helleth of hell, and we all know it. For some it'll be an all-you-can-fuck buffet, and for some it'll be the darkest depths of shitty hell. For me I have no idea what's it's gonna' be, but I know it's not gonna' be easy. Peasy like the clouds in heaven, or the down on riverside geese. If I could go back.

I wouldn't.

"I'm on the road to oblivion the pathway to hell. me myself and i

“ I can tell by the way you take your infusion, you’ve spent some time in a mental institution. tea and thorazine, andrew bird

My back arches and in the twilight, feral cat sounds echo from the insides of dark alleys. My fngers explore the hopeless pages of a book, my mind is elsewhere. I sigh, contemplate the surroundings. I wonder, maybe if I worked and plundered harder something good would happen; something other than this deep hole I've somehow led myself into.

The clouds are black.

Hear the printing press against my head, I breathe in the deep acrid smell of the ink they use. Letter by letter the ink jets across the parchment in a flurry of metal and pointed tips. Words press into the scroll as if tattooed, I feel each alphabet press into my skin as if it was I, and not the paper, that was being art-ed. I turn and around me is the sky, I am on a cloud, with naught but my typewriter, and my demons.

Pray hold my hand and tell me how beautiful I am. Tell me how lustrous my hair is. Whisper in my ear how the rustle of my dress makes you feel. Whisper how my skin burns beneath your finger tips, cry. For my knees burn and knock together at your breath, for my eyes and ears redden at your touch. O'! Entomb me.

It's actually midnight and I feel the ground quaking beneath my pawed feet. I am nervously clawing the ground, running my fingers through my hair. As I wait, I wait, I wonder. Because we once were, we now could be. Or maybe as we were once, we now can not be. I think wildly should I wait under the firs for you long enough, I'd hear your cloven hoofs coming towards me. I tremble as I envision your hand on my shoulder behind closed lids. A breath on my neck. The snow drifts up and swifts across my shoe. My teeth chatter and I see you. I see you.

Today I want ginger curls and a chanel t-shirt. Tomorrow I'm going to want chocolate nails and black lips. And in the future, silver box hats and paper shoes.

"You're absolutely out of your tree"And I said"Yes and I'm awfully sad about it, it was really a very nice tree".

It's not easy to think about lush velvet curtains and rich fur rugs when you're living in a dead-end apartment in a dead end town next to a dead-end forest. But that's what I want. I want to think about pink walls and floaty chiffon curtains. I want to wistfully and morosely lament that I have plywood floors that need buffing every good weekend. I want to wail that my beautiful persian carpeting bears the dust from my ivory lamps. I want to proudly yet humbly show off my chandelier, to warmly experiment with my induction cooker and stainless steel pans. I want to live out of a high bed with an iron back, velvet brocade sheets and lush silk hangings. The canopy would be decorated with intricate gold and red thread, the walls mahogany panelling, the floor adorned with a fluffy alpaca rug. There shall be a swing, made of pink wood and fine gold chain. There I shall sit through the balmy summer evenings sipping chai tea and savoury lattes, while burying my nose in the latest thriller or mystery novel. The front yard is brimming with pretty azaleas, green peas and tomatoes. I have a private garden where the red robin christianed Bert sings his tunes out at the top of his voice. The birdhouse is yellow and spacious, and Bert soons makes a home out of it with his new wife Victoria. There they will have tiny red fledgelings, whom I shall call Gardenia, Tulip and Bing respectively. My house shall be warm and inviting, a place of comfort and solace. My house is like my tree. It is supporting and firm. During Hallows Eve I will stand on my porch and smile while handing out gummy bears and gum balls to little children. The wind will whip through my hair and whistle through my chimney. The leaves shall roll across the sidewalk, and I will laugh.

Back when the balloons were still pink and the sidewalks grew cold, you held my hand and drew me closer.

Under the fierce moonlight I see you against my door. Tomorrow is going to be a day of endless possibilities. I'm familiarising myself with people from the long-lost past, taking chances, leaps off cliffs.. into oceans. Because sometimes things don't go as planned. Cream melts off the ice, caps slide off the sweaty foreheads of little boys. And maybe tomorrow will be like that. But I will tog myself out in my polka-dotted, knitted cardigan best and keep the water running. It's crouching tiger, really not hidden dragon.

Are you scared? This forest of lost sheep and pine trees. Cones, rods endless strings of needles. Rule number #1: Always put rushes in your hair.

I can see everything now that the rain is gone. My eyes fade into the day. My head is clear above the clouds. I see your balloons in my chimney. Your sneakers on my front porch.

Everyday I wonder about summer and think about how you must be faring over those wide open seas. And then I let myself pour a cup of tea and settle down in old wicker chairs to mope and think about all the times I let your silky tresses cloud my vision, let those stunning eyes of yours burn into my soul. The sun has ridden his carraige deep over the mountain tops. And I grieve.

Ghosts in the bathroom. Hear me Speak. Your voice like paper planes in the wind.

Cashmere and Cigarettes. Just the little things. Rolling in bales of hay smelling its sweet scent, getting my hands dyed red from the tresses. If today would mark the beginning of something it certainly marked the end. Roasting chickens on spits and fanning flames it was then we bid goodbye to our lives as we have known it for two years. Next year we would be trenched knee deep in cooties and cigars, too busy being nurds and having mash for lunch. It's like winter after a fall I miss you all green eyes red heads brown hair. Good or bad we've been through so much. The trees can be felled by rain and sleet but eternal shall we be. Caffeine and endless bottles of cheap perfume we'll walk through this, we'll get through this. Four zero Eight, my love.

Sometimes I want to run away like Igby Slocumb.

A place where it's okay to sit all alone in the dark thinking about nothing, where the television is broken and sometimes the only light comes from lit cigarettes and stars. It's okay to write on the walls too. Write your lists, your words, your quotes, your thankyou notes.

"Thankyou for the sleep and the smiles, for the smokes and the cereals, the milk was off but the heat was on. In short, misery loves company and it thanks you for your time." In eyeliner, on the west facing wall, under the fairy lights.

Credits: Anna Wolf

You're so chronic.

♥ Buy a film camera

♥ Photograph the Glory of Life

♥ Bake some cupcakes

♥ Run through a field of flowers

♥ Get my bangs cut

♥ Put in a new weave

♥ Tie ribbons in my hair

♥ Scrapbook!

What is your current obsession? Suede Knee High Boots and Cats

What is your horoscope & do you relate to it? I am a Virgo. But I don't think I relate very much to it because Virgos are supposed to be all dainty and "saintlike". I doubt that the latter applies to me at all.

What are you wearing today? What is the last thing you bought? I am wearing my class t-shirt which is pink and says 308 on the front, and "I ate my teacher" at the back with a little cartoon. And my school skirt. (White, with pleats) The lat thing I bought (assumingly clothing) would be a pair of leather pants from Zara.

What do you think about the person who tagged you? Her blog is awesome and so is she :)

That question about a fully furnished, paid for, that everyone answers with 'Paris' or 'New York': London? Or anywhere with autumn, and I can see the leaves fall.

What's for dinner? My own vomit, apparently.

What's your favorite decade, fashion wise? The 1920s. Fur coats, tight curls :) The women were impeccable.

What are your must haves for summer? Floaty dresses, brown wedges. Lots and lots of lemon tea.

What would you love to be able to afford? A huge apartment with really big windows and high ceilings. A toilet that has a huge bath with tarnished gold "bird talons" at the bottom. White-washed walls, willow wood chandeliers and fur rugs.

What is your favorite piece of clothing from your own wardrobe? For now it'd definitely be my checkered flannel shirt and aztec lyrcra bodycon dress (both from topshop). And I simply adore my MNG cold blue skinny-legged jeans, even though I haven't worn them out yet- nah, not even once. As for shoes, my Jeffrey Campbell lace-up wedges do excellently with every outfit, though I'd prefer a higher heel (they're only 3" high). The pair that gets the most wear would probably be my Pierre Hardy leather wedges- dig the wooden heel :)

What is your dream job? I would love to be the owner of my own high-end label/clothing store. However, my dream for the moment is to go to law school and become a lawyer.

What's your favorite magazine? J'adore Elle Magazine. Because it has huge visuals with very little text ha ha. I love Vogue (UK) for their excellent spreads and stories, and Seventeen (US) for the teeny bopper stuff (like sex ed).

What do you consider a fashion faux pas? I hate things overdone and people who try too hard. Crocs and things that everybody buys off Singaporean blogshops are also a big no-no for me, unless they are produced VERY exclusively, or pieces that people seldom attempt to wear.

Describe your personal style. My style is super chaotic. Sometimes I over-layer, sometimes I wear pieces alone and they look really terrible, and I buy for individual looks, so the clothes really don't mesh together. But more often then not I tend to veer towards avante-garde, rock/goth and a palette of blacks and blood red.

What are you doing after this? Watching more gory movies then dinner, and bed.

What's the sin you're most guilty of? Being a bitch?

Which Beatle is your favorite? You should ask my dad this.

What are you proud of? My Individuality.