My name's Joslyn.

Pigment's my love. Body modification's artificial, the exact linkage for life. The world's judging from above your head and before the naked eyes. I like feeling forgotten from time to time. I'm authorized with the advantage to feel separated with reality every few minutes. Its animating to gauge against the dark pillars, to determine when the sky's falling on me. I could pile up an entire book of jossy's history which is unforsaken, histories I reminisce during the everydays of my life, compilations of the uglys and pretties lovelies. I used to hate the shine, creeping down and closing my eyes when light is up. I abhor being that night person, and I comprehend that I'm sneaking out of it. If only I could be less complicating and problematic. I often seem alright with friends, I often laugh along with them and I cry whenever it's appropriate. The teardrops shall never be present, the hatred and pathos are rightfully locked in me, somewhere, distant apart from the heart. This is a starting point for me to creak, very much afraid to lose myself and eventually left undiscovered of who I really am. The words I wish to speak never comes out, and I don't reveal. Few who envisage that they apprehend me well are usually the few who doesn't, the identical philosophy of whom I needed beside. Verdict is, love's not even a solution to make you feel progressed when you're feeling not.

I'm in poverty of much time to recall, to find me back.

World, why are you always not the same. Why isn't life always easy. So life isn't simple, what is the definition of simple life?.