est. 1999
dedicated to everyone who wonders if I’m writing about them.
I am.
my archive of unsent confessions.
faceless moments.in a world obsessed with trophies and surface,
I chose anonymity
poems, diary confessions, hotel-room truths.
written in the shadows while they slept,
no goodbyes, just the folded Benjamin I kept.
my beauty paid the bill and the price.
i weaponized what they worshipped.
captured faceless proof I existed,
not the shape I left in their sheets.
who am i to rage against being ornamental when I mastered the art of the pedestal?
xx alice // I confess
Confessions Blog
#22 | monster addiction
when is a monster not a monster?oh, ……when you love it. -chasing alice // confession # 22
#22 | monster addiction
when is a monster not a monster?oh, ……when you love it. -chasing alice // confession # 22
#14 | drunk me to death
I hope to arrive to my death late, in love, and a little drunk.-chasing alice // confession #14
#14 | drunk me to death
I hope to arrive to my death late, in love, and a little drunk.-chasing alice // confession #14
#173 | moon struck
he looked at her likeshe was the moon,like she was madeof wonderment and beauty,she was somethingnot everyone knewhow to love -chasing alice // confession #173
#173 | moon struck
he looked at her likeshe was the moon,like she was madeof wonderment and beauty,she was somethingnot everyone knewhow to love -chasing alice // confession #173
#36 | participation prize
I remember when I was young beauty was the trophy now wise and scarred intelligence is the participation prize to burn hearts with brilliance engulf souls with compassion be loved...
#36 | participation prize
I remember when I was young beauty was the trophy now wise and scarred intelligence is the participation prize to burn hearts with brilliance engulf souls with compassion be loved...