She paints it Black.


I feel as if someone has broken into my mind my thoughts and impulses.  I feel violated insanely volatile, angry, agitated, mostly I feel as if the one gift or curse, the brilliant madness, may have lost its glorious rise into some sort of sanity.  Fuck you. You never were to get the key and even if it were accidentally handed to you, you would NEVER ever understand as I am sure this may seem as pure amusement to your simple mind or simple being.  Turn around, this road is a one way ticket to hell and ps you weren’t invited.  A very deep cut of crimson, the thorns will devour your every inch.  You will see in this tormented soul something so ugly only the complexity in someone would see the innate and soulful beauty, something so rare, like black stars.  I began creating her long before I consciously knew that I was going to be a stripper. I would as a young girl fantasize about being this seductive woman that men lusted over even before I understood the concept of temptation or desire.  I would lock my door and begin to take my clothes off and simulate sexual acts as young as 8.  I didn’t start dancing until I was 25, stripping was the band aide for all the other shit, the anxiety, the fear.  As I stripped all of this just started accumulating, layers and layers of all my insecurites, all my shit, watching her die inch by inch.  I created this aspect of my personality to be able to escape, for as a little girl Zoe Jane was imprinted into my DNA, she was always there when I needed her.  She was not a full born “character” until I was able to actually become her.  I don’t know what the fuck to do with out her I feel like part of me is gone. My strength, my sanity all created into this other being all to keep me safe in a world and subculture that I willing chose to enter into.  Strangely I felt at home and at ease, the outside world when I had to be me was the challenge. It is not a matter of leaving the adult entrainment industry. . .I could care less. I have said earlier I have moved past my days dancing or at best, I am at the end.  It is that side of me, it was more then being sexy, teasing men and emptying wallets. I found a place that I could bring her to life.  She was years in the making. If it were just about the stripping, and  that were the case I would be a bar whore.  Not my thing.  She is so deeply rooted inside me attached to some really, really horrific creepy shit.  The obsessive compulsive behavior, the delusions and hysteria of me in front of the bathroom mirror with a razor slowly beginning to cut my face.  Such paralyzing fear, inch by inch she got smaller and smaller and her tumors grew, she turned yellow and looked like a monster.  God why the fuck could you not just die? Pieces, fragments of innocence were lost.  My father slept next to her every single night I don’t know how he was able to do that.  I had horrible tantrums that began in the middle of the night smashing my fist through pictures of us, bloodied hands streaked my mirror as I just wanted it to end.  Please just let her die or let me die.  That is who I am.  That is why I created her. I could not care anymore because that is what I did all the time.  Such a sensitive girl.  Such a fucked up place.  I think I am staying for a little while at least.




~ by applejaxe on February 2, 2012.

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