The social theory, of the uninterpreted sanctuary of hollow bodied soldiers.

These are the travesties of the human heart. The stifling trickled down crisis of your growing american dreams.Shredding empty pages before they are written. She's my sycophant little succubus. I'd only take what I couldn't exchange. I'm an Indian giver of the chief's black water resolution. so here we have come a cropper. and I lay in the dirt shredding away at your stolen criteria of your own negligent flailing benevolence.the sub-trial of your subsistence with the sum of your summer assimilation. just wasting the days away while you leave them choking on your hollow so called altruistic heart.I stakeout the land that has once brought us the wealth of the Great God Jehovah. As we sit and trust that our souls lay shrinking aimlessly in the eyes of the infinite, sheep in wolves clothing rape the bunkers of our bravest men of valor. The crux asterism we once aimed for is now in the vice of a lions teeth. oh brood me so passionately you compassionate faint spark.I give you my intrepidy and fortitude. take a forest down and everyone will hear it, but not the leveling of my razing ravage. Every fleshly heart tricked race will feel the endurance, will bear and commiserate with the subdued rending. The suburbs are the loneliest place in the world to be when its unpunctually early in the morrow.I need a revolt, the repugnant sickness of my loathsome still small voice. And so we refute a common error, and we say sorry to the treasonous fortunes we've so enviously buried under our bloodied feet.
Just whisper me a simple story. Tell me everything is paragon, epitome.. That everyone is surrounded by some sublime & virtuous armada. I'll take my cyanide when everyone's Shitting rainbows. until then we'll stay in the grit and freeze our cells in little unexamined misconstrues.
I hope I've not made myself clear.
oh silent oath of a bitter revenge...

a la prochaine,
Au revoir..

Sweetheart I Ain't Your Christ (piano version with Dustin O'Halloran) by joshtpearson

I intend to write about this experience someday.

The advocacy of the consistent misanthropes that determine the wisdom of the young and naive...

I feel like I used to be so much more positive. Now the weight on my chest is heavier than my slow dying breath. Stimulated and vindicated. at the edge of a territorial and tentative heart lies the overall incumbency of a structural monstrosity based on gamma versatile jealousy and the torrential debut of its sharpening and treacherous overthrow. stolen hearts and stolen minds, that's what we are now. I saw her last week just as heart trembling and beautiful as ever. but what was the account that it would ever amount to anything but a shallow glimpse of the ever present integrity we once held in the confines of our hollow bodies. I’m becoming unruly comfortable with my negligence to others. I guess, I embrace the thought of being alone. "The only person you can ever truly depend on is yourself. I wake up to myself every day and fall asleep to myself every night, and I’m always going to be there, as long as I’m alive, I can’t say that for anyone else." Have I love yet to give to such a cruel intended world? Of course, but at the expense of my own virtue being taken miscellaneously from the loosened grip of my worn hands. So I swore to my deprivation that I wouldn’t let it take what’s left. And I burned the hands of those holding me down. But when you get out there, it’s hard to enjoy freedom when you are completely and entirely alone.

So from a radius of an innocent observer my social graces seem suffice, but if you could get a glimpse of my eyes, though dull and shallow. You’d think, he may as well have been weeping. I can’t get away from the blood on my hands.

One cigarette tonight...
no dreams. I'm awake with closed eyes.