rude awakenings

you think you're immune, that somehow you're the exception. maybe in your eyes you don't count in the roll call of filth that crowds this planet but in mine, you do. don't take it personally, though. no one is immune.

hey yo back from the promised land. guh i hate it here.

gone gone gone. i am the little runaway. last night in my sleep i drew a dripping sun on my wall. and why, i cannot recall

Stoke What is reality? What is truth? We all have truths, are mine the same as yours? Everyone has a different perception of reality, to one my reality could be “amusing lies” though it is the truth in my eyes. Some say reality was meant to be embellished, otherwise no one will listen. We're all caught up in our own realities, believing we hold supremacy. No one will give a second thought to a story of banal existence. Though truth is stranger than fiction, it's not to say it's always more compelling. When I was younger I was stung on the lip by a bee. I cried for hours until my father told me something to abate my tears. “You know, bees often circle the mouth of a story teller,” he told me in that sort of whisper that always drew me in, “You might have a gift, you never know…” My father had succeeded in stemming my tears but little did he know he also sparked the kindling that would soon become a fiery passion of mine. I had never had a memorable past and I was sure

can you give me sanctuary? I need a place to stay. A place to hide away. let me live in every way

it must be so wonderful, so great to be so sure. to know without a doubt what you need in order to attain indesputable happiness. is it that easy for everyone? have i not found it yet? or am i simply unable of acheiving it? this is the reason i can't believe in fate. I am never happy, never completely satisfied. i could believe that there's the one person i'm destined for and continue searching for this ellusive home in vain, passing by mediocraty. maybe it's true, but i dont believe it. i would sacrifice perfectly copable existences and slander other's hopes because mine are too grand. but should i have to deal with anything less than perfect? but there's no such thing as perfect. there's always this endless quest for self betterment. props to those who have found it. maybe it was a mere fluke. or maybe they're just telling themselves its perfect, telling themselves to be happy. maybe i'm afraid of happiness. no, i'm afraid of missing opportunit

I met a million flowers bent and broken from the rain. I slept beneath an avalanche, I wandered among the trains. I feasted on the many meals of a broken man's hurt and pain. I've sank beneath the layers of a lonely mind I've seen the empty horrors there, wishing I was blind I kept walking through the mountain ranges not caring what i left behind I felt my heart and soul within wither and fall down I found myself once again in this lonely battered town I saw the remnants of a deadened love that broke my heart and stole my crown

It's a beautiful torment. A painful love. My broken hallelujah.

please refer to the post prior to this one to explain my following actions. It makes me angry. I know there's no right for me to be, yet I am. And I don't want to change. Yes, I am frightened by this. I have seen unsettling similarities between myself and my mother. They're growing exponentially now, and I don't have any intentions of stemming the flow. You have as much a right as any to enjoy yourself. Maybe I'm jealous, it's entirely possible. Maybe I'm afraid that you'll damn yourself further. Maybe I'm just afraid. Maybe I could be avoiding the conclusion. Maybe I'm overreacting. I'm almost certain I am. But that doesn't stop me from acting in this manner. "what's wring with smoking toking and drinking? Richard doesn't see a problem with it, and he's grade 10. Emma doesn't see a problem with it, and she's grade 9! Melissa doesn't see a problem with it, and she's grade 8!" "Wait, what? Gr

Baby, do you understand me now Sometimes I feel a little mad But don't you know that no one alive Can always be an angel When things go wrong I seem to be bad But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree With a joy that's hard to hide And sometimes it seems that all I have do is worry Then you're bound to see my other side But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood If I seem edgy I want you to know That I never mean to take it out on you Life has it's problems and I get my share And that's one thing I never meant to do Because I love you Oh, Oh baby don't you know I'm human Have thoughts like any other one Sometimes I find myself long regretting Some foolish thing some little simple thing I've done

You've sealed my fate with a kiss.

What am i suppose to do just tell me and i'll make it true you are the one my life with out you is done cant tell you how much i care and every thing with you i wanna share i want to know that you'll be there to know that ill always have air your one of a kind like you, ill never find so tell me what you need even my life, indeed your my dream with out you I'm lost in steam i though i can figure things out but what to do to have you doesn't count i can wait if that's the issue but my eyes will need some tissues hope i can be the man tomorrow today when ever i can just be with me and let me be the one for you who always knew that your the one my life with out you Is done

there's an abundance of inner monologue floating around my brain I'm too weary to let it out so it continues, bumping into the outer layers bruising my mind

Ah you hate to see another tired man lay down his hand like he was giving up the holy game of poker You tell him to come in sit down but something makes you turn around You cannot close your shelter. It's true that all the men you knew were dealers who said they were through with dealing Every time you gave them shelter I know that kind of man It's hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching for the sky just to surrender I see the hope fade away as smoke curling around his shoulder. His constant kicks through the gutter makes my shoulders sink that much lower. My will is weakened by my love. The light is scattered and absorbed by the greedy eyes of fate. Their hands thrashing through the feeble cloud, reducing all our hoping to flying dust. Stamina is running low as the sand that marks the time is falling through. To win you have to keep going until it hurts. then keep going further. The air is catching and dragging itself through the tissues of my lungs. Everywhere I look

the bus ride made her unwell, added to the feeling of sickness from unexpected warm temperatures and coming over-equipped for the weather, and unequipped for hydration. she walked on home, the sun in her eyes. Halfway there she had an inexplicable urge to take off her shoes and walk barefoot in the cool trickles of water running down the side of the road. she composed herself, but marvelled in springs progression, conveyed by the glistening reflections of sun in the gutters. a beautiful sense of nostalgia, of care-free springs, sending leaves and twigs down those macro rivers and watching them spiral down in the current. she thought she might have to do that again, and soon. nothing better than a dose of childhood innocence to beat that mundane existence and those walking blues.