landfills.

all these bullet holes, filled with my discarded landfills. they can't, and won't speak for us.
you'll take the easy life, with handshakes of all my cries. the way that slowly kills my will.
i'll take your silent knife, that final point of life, with all your wounds, wounds that won't heal.
you look so pretty high up, up where you won't fall off. your place where you can't feel the words.
down here, so tired and lonely, right here, the one and only, a failure, failure you can't feel.
what a final thought. a final disappointment. a failure sugarcoated by fear.
such a nice example, another pointless sample. it's one way, a way to take your deal.
you are.. my final thought.., that final fight i lost. the potential that is never real.

a thankful moment 2 remember

once when i was little, my mother made me so mad, that my obvious logical thinking was to cover my entire room, every square inch, with yellow post-it notes that simply stated "i fuken hate you bitch". i don't even remember the event that spawned the creation of those post-it's, nor does it fuken matter, for covering my room was obviously the true substance derived from that experience... furthermore, let me state that it makes me feel gitty as a virgin on prom night that i did that. haha, yeah., for no other reason than.. "cauz".., and ummm, if my world was reality, mutha fukahs would be covering all their retarded sacred spaces with such post-it notes. at work, in bathrooms, family gatherings, church, etc. etc., instead of being the waste of space that most of you people are.

just dying to live

i'm always aiming to strive to really live life, but in a literal sense, it's more like i'm really just dying to live, or living to die. well, one can't really live, if they haven't died. the weight of those words can only be measured by experiencing the difference of the two extremes. otherwise, you may think you're living, when in reality, you're merely existing, aaaaand.., let's face it, the vast majority of people are just cluelessly, contently, striving to exist..., most people really think they are living, by fuken playing their acceptable, fruitless, safe parts in a emotionally failed system. yeah, a bunch of pointless, chicken shit, people, turning their insecure noses up at extremes, when really, their stupid existence is only taking up good air for me to breathe. ugh, fuken people. so god damn predictably disappointing. if i didn't have to urge for social human contact here and there, i swear, i wouldn't even bother speaking to anyone, but myself. i don't fuken know what i'm expecting, or why i'm still surprised at people's ability to manipulate my energy, or why i even hope. i don't hope anymore. hope isn't fuken a good thing. you kidding me? hope? psssh, bullshit. let me just say, hope, it isn't a fuken magical underlying force that drives the soul to push forward. hope is just a bunch of selfish fantasies that are relative to one's own perception of the word.. serving only to spawn more expectations in which to be let down by, when people and life predictably fail to comply.

golden rules.

yes, it's all shit.
it's pointless to wonder why.
potential dies every second.
everything is as hopeless as it feels to you.
hold on to a moment, but leave behind regret.
growing up is personal progression, not consumer status.
living is hard, but so is fuken dying.
don't put time into things that have no capacity.
u don't learn shit from winning.
when in doubt, fuck.

deplorable

i don't write much anymore. in fact, i'm not inspired to do much of anything these days, unless if it's some shady illegal activity that most people really would not approve of.. which, really, makes it that much more fun. u can't take the dark side out of the force. even though at times it doesn't feel like it, it's way more bad ass to be the minority in anything.

note to self

draw old computers.