As soon as the first person wrote about me, the articles became just blatant, all-out lies. I consider it slander. If I cared more, I'd kill them.

Be like snow - cold, but beautiful.

Walking through the city streets... Is it by mistake or design?

I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.

I lost my reputation, I forgot my truth. But I have my beauty and I have my youth.

I like a little hardcore love.

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry. Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough, I don't know why.