I dodged angry birds and went after balloons for you.
I actually got a lap time of less than 0.0s for you.
I fought numerous monsters for you.
I got into a fight against mirror images of my own for you.
I got into a cactuar hunt for you.
I freaking chased after blue butterflies for you.
I played 60+ games of a highly futuristic but boring sport for you.
( Read more... )

A query among queries: if silence becomes the refuge of the unforgiven, where is redemption to be found?

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The time is here and I am lost, still in a disarray. I'm still fighting the war I never really wanted, I'm still dying before the first gunshot is made. Truly, in the moments we believe we alone should matter, the reality of the pain we've ( Read more... )

I remember, somewhere and some time ago, I  wrote about half-empty glasses and the thirst that never gets quenched.

In a few heartbeats, the reminder of the time when I yanked away the glass--of my own volition--and caused myself to drown in dryness and dissipate in deluge will begin again.

Oh, Father. Why have you forsaken me?

The mind turns red. The lack of rest is killing the fight that tries to fight.

Hope is the ultimate refuge of the weak. We only really are the effects of the choices we make.

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And, now, we're back to square negative one. In this quintessence of a tragedy, I am alone.

Yet again.

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Die, motherfuckers, die.

A momentary peace but the bough will eventually break. Here where I stand, there were lives that never really mattered. The problem is, they did in some way I will never be able to explain.

A death of one for the death of something else, and already the cycle becomes maddening. Images of what could have been burn into this asphalt that has never ( Read more... )

A sublime disarray, this life is such a wonderful reminiscence. We remember, for it is in that moment that we discover how far we've come... And how much we've lost. I look at you now and I see a bygone era, one of a thousand solecisms that cease to give peace. Pure our purposes may be but never were they enough. Truly, when did anything become ( Read more... )

How long will it take before we start to slowly drift apart?

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When will I stop writing messages that I don't even send?

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And why don't the questions ever stop?

A writing from a time gone by.

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Memento mori. We must remember that one thing that will define our existence.

A threat from a foreign land and it hurts those we hold dearest to us. Yet we are elsewhere, drifting in emotions all too familiar it's almost alien. An image in departure that reminds you of what you don't have and perhaps never will. ( Read more... )

I really just need to write this ( Read more... )

This piece-of-shit online journal is now officially on major hiatus.

Yeah.