We, are like street lamps. Perched; fixed distances from each other, helpless and unable to ever make contact. Perched, by the heavy burden of definitions of self, and demography. Heavy, are these burdens, and heavy, is my heart. Not unless the wind would gush with such intensity, that my very foundation would break, or yours perhaps? That you(I) would fall, but only to a point that i will grasp...
Life’s just a big fucking slot machine, no?
she has taken care of me for as long as i remember, and she’s passing on soon. i’ve always invited death into my life, but i can never handle it when he approached those i care for.
happiness is a god damn long shot.
got to keep this dreamer alive.
a la folie.
There has been an absence of thought currently. More so, an absence of being. I fear I have been questioning my entire life up till today. What have I felt all these years anyway? I have become so cold, too cold. Roses wither and retain its beauty, I, I am the torn, who stays constant throughout the seasons - causing hurt, feeling no remorse. Somebody save me.