Paradise

What a beautiful world, so fragile and fertile
Pain filled the void when boy met girl
He’s a puppet to nature, one year later
Now so deeply and sickly in love it makes him hate her
The average romanticized American relationship
Sinks, capsized when either side becomes a slave to it
Conditioned, dependent, afraid to be alone
He needs that feeling that he can’t create all on his own
He despises the fact she has a life outside of him
It drives him crazy to think she’s not insanely consumed with him
Give her the guilt-trip and maybe she’ll quit living,
To stay behind his prison walls and lose all individualism
Well this is happiness, masochistic torture
Played by the decadent, craved of affection
The needle digs deep to push contentment through his bloodstream
And drown out hollow, the pothole of a junkie
If he could only hear her sing, he
wouldn’t want to break her wings
But emptiness has such a warm, subtle sting
She makes up for what he lacks, trapped,
He can’t imagine life without someone like that
We’ve rediscovered the long-lost art of dying
Only to lonely resent angels for flying
Twisted, living off of each other’s sickness like parasites
This is paradise
We’ve rediscovered the long-lost art of dying
Only to lonely resent angels for flying
Addicted, afraid to take control of my own life
This is paradise
What a beautiful world, emotionally destroyed
Her became plural when girl met boy
Between several breakups and plenty relapses
Routine bred-comfort led to serious attachment
Now every once in a while she forgets to breathe
Terrified of losing him, paradise is misery
Too much faith in the life-saving knight in shining armour
Now her knight’s noticing the scars she can’t hide any longer
But they were her story way before he was
It was gross hope to think he could heal such deep cuts
At first it felt so right but after one too many fights,
He turned out that hallway light and all
the wonder turned to spite
So they sleep in the same bed with guns to each others’ heads
Dead the romance, boiling the blood that painted roses red
Suffering from post-honeymoon disease, bleached through
His whole existence, she’ll die if he decides to leave
Addicted to the way she feels when they spend time together
Detouring the now in a childish attempt to find forever
Despite the fact they hold each other heart to heart
You can’t be that close to somebody without being so far apart
Silence, the most obscure sound I’ve ever heard
Those lonely, giant spaces in between your every word
And maybe, I’m totally crazy for holding on but
Just cus I’m insane, don’t mean that I’m wrong
Now that you’re gone I can’t sleep at night
I barely even function right, my memory’s on overdrive
Too hungry and too cold to cry
Miss the companionship I once took for granted
The way you helped me manage, the partnership that vanished
But I don’t expect you to stay chained by the ankle,
There’s so much world to see so, fly free my angel
I’m dying without you, but it’s teaching me to live
Heaven ain’t something someone else can give
It’s all inside of me

i hope you never lose your sense of wonder

if some day or night, a demon were to sneak after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you,
"this is life as you now live it and have lived it and you will have to once more and more innumerable times more, and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain, and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything immeasurably small or great in your life must return to you, all in the same succession and sequence and even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and i myself. the eternal hourglass of existence is turned over and over, and you with it, a dust grain of dust."

I begin to hate you for your face not just the things you do

I begin to hate you for your face, not just the things you do

I saw a couple waiting for the train the other day. Actually, I wouldn’t even call them a couple; they were more like a severely primitive form of a raw relationship between a man and woman. I can sense the desire to control and be controlled simultaneously. I can also sense the ridiculously strong fire that burns them both…almost to the point of feeling pleasure after extreme pain…simply by being in one another’s presence. That is something that I don’t have a name for because it’s not love, infatuation or attraction. Perhaps barbaric would be fitting. It’s something so rare that it’s like seeing a creature of an extinct species walk past your front door drinking a coke from BK.

The city is like a multitude of steps that ascend and descend in no particular order. They are like the world at large…everything at random without patterns or continuity. Our purpose is to make sense out of it all.
I can never look at Classic Architecture the same way. Because of the text I’m reading, I’ll never be able to think that everything that has columns, colonnades, a nave or bay, flying buttresses and some sort of lion or ghoul isn’t a carbon copy of a previous structure that uses the excuse of “integrity” and faith to the founding fathers of architecture.

All I can do is laugh now because no one and I mean NO ONE has ever proven me wrong in terms of expectations. Some have come close but eventually fuck up. And yes I understand people fuck up because of course we’re all human and don’t reproduce asexually so I forgive…and forgive…and effing forgive. But what happens after my forgiveness supplies have been exhausted and there’s nothing left but NOTHING? Apparently, it just continues which is why I just can’t be serious about it anymore. I just can’t care because it’s taking too much of me away.
love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance. Not a bandage for dirty sores. But they don’t know it. Those who speak of love most promiscuously are the ones who’ve never felt it. They make some sort of feeble stew out of sympathy, compassion, contempt and general indifference, and they call it love. Once you’ve felt what it means to love as you and I know it–the total passion for the total height–you’re incapable of anything less.’

Can one love another love much? Reverence after love possibly?

“It is necessary only to hate, to hate blindly, to hate patiently, to hate without anger, only to hate and let nothing intervene, and not let oneself forget…..”
Every step I take shatters a tiny part of the Earth below me. I wonder if possibly one day, it’ll just break apart and I’d fall into the abyss.

You will never know but I want to be the catalyst behind your downfall. I want to be the reason why you don’t walk down the isle because it’ll be right. I want to be the reason you can’t type the letter J without instantly thinking of me. I want to be the face that envelopes every. I want to drown you in guilt, make you the subject of “pin the tail on the fool”, make you trip every 38th step…I want you fall on your knees and feel lower than the ground you’re kneeling on. I want the word shame to form in your cereal. I want you to forget that anything besides your own tears exists. After everything…I want you to live and be reminded by the scars on your poor soul.

Every single one of us is racist. Anyone who denies it is in complete denial.
I think Polaroids are beautiful. I want to cover my room in them. Every inch of it. Even the little corner in the back of my closer that’s hard to get to because of all the shoes I don’t wear anymore.

Semiconscious delirium

mental deterioration

hypnotic environment

LALALA.
I’ll knife you. Barbaric primitive

What it is to know me

I’ve always had a hint – actually a gargantuan part of me has been insecure, shy…just generally reclusive. But you know what, I just noticed that I’m not that anymore, I always hated people who play beer pong and party with a biology textbook in hand, people who stay up all night and go out on weekdays, people who listen to more than one genre of music, people who actively pursue their career past classes and textbooks.

Hell, I am those things! Yeah, I like indie and obscure rap. Yeah, I go to loud rock concerts and bob my head to some fantastic R&B. Yeah I drink, party and hold a 3.5 GPA. I’m tired of hearing bullshit, if I want omething to happen, unless I’m missing limbs, I’m doing it. I have a damn personality; a multi-faceted one at that. I live with my mistakes; I reminisce about my good memories and never forget my fuckups. I dance in my room to shit you wouldn’t expect me to. I take baths. My bike is my car – 2-wheelers PREVAIL. I’m not perfect and I love it. Yeah, I’ve got small boobs but I’ve got a bangin’ ass to make up for it. Yeah, I know my face isn’t perfect – I wear makeup, DEAL WITH IT.

Got an addiction? I’ll feed it that shit you’ll like it. I own this city. I get through the knitty gritty. I often can’t tell when someone’s flirting with me, that means I probably don’t like you. I’m unstoppable. Everything I’m doing is Brand New. I’m the goofiest, most random person you’ll ever meet. Stop fucking calling me CUTE. I think Pollock is bullshit – Degas, Cezanne and Goya REIGN. Never take me to a club. Never underestimate me. I play pool. I smoke hookah. I swim. I love the beach more than food. I love art history. Regardless of how much I get hurt, I’ll never run out of love.


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