Home is where the hurt is.

If a person was meant for you, they never would have left you. If they come back, that's because the person they left you for left them for someone else. Sayings like "Home is where the heart is" were coined by the most lonely poets who ever lived, if I were to guess. If someone wants you, they'll take you. All the other empty promises is them liking the idea of you.

That is the difference between Mister Right and Mister Right Now. You're better than waiting for someone else to grow up. You're better than the situations they put you in. Life isn't a romantic comedy, and waiting to be swept off your feet is waiting to die alone.

Take into consideration the friendships you already have - those people will be there to catch you when you fall, after someone fails at sweeping you off your feet.

So we try some optimism, pen some slogans for more better days.

One of the best and most heart-filled hardcore releases of the past twenty years.

Idle hands.

My strengths-quest assessment told me I'm introspective to the point that I become discontent with my life after compiling a mental list of ideas about what my life could be if I applied myself. Seeing as I don't party or mingle with too many people around here, that was probably the weirdest college experience thus far.

I like this class. At least now I know for sure that these are strengths and not weaknesses. I'm pretty sure what I want to major in now.

I like not having to work, but at the same time, I can't help but feel like I should have my own business. I'll think and pray more on this, but in the meantime, VA allowance and grants that I'll never have to pay back are keeping everything frosty. Speaking of frosty, snow is coming soon. I'll be happy the first day, for sure. But I'll probably get depressed thinking about dad as the first week progresses. Regardless, the cold sucks.

I'm getting bored, and it sucks. I took Hawaii and the social scene's constantly active agenda for granted. That was an island, and more goes on there than this town. I'm sick of having to drop thirty dollars to the cities to do anything worth taking a picture of. This makes me feel like moving to Indianapolis again. Second semester, perhaps. At least I'd be closer to her.

Family Video rental = the cat's knees. This place might as well be my girlfriend right now. So many great movies I never knew existed.

No Saints

There are no saints - you're as safe as you make yourself. I've been blamed for blaming the blamed, so prove me wrong and find a human being who isn't insane. The saviors can't save themselves and I'm still taking advice from dead men. They suffer with pride and somehow still find more to smile for than I. Honestly, purely, bluntly confessional. I blame myself as you should but I know I had help, eager accomplices yet reluctant to send themselves to hell. They told us we'd only live once, and that seemed to be enough to ironically coerce us to replace love with lust. We embellished the truth to keep it convenient, we said just this once and then never again. Just once but now I think I'll walk this line just one more time. This is a problem of perception, like my free will and my predestination.I'm walking in circles and there's no one to warn me of the hole that I'm digging with every step that I take. The help that is offered is all too proudly turned down, I could stop myself if I tried, but that's too easy now. I know better than this, we know better than this. But the line between an idle hand and a masterpiece is a continent wide. A long journey while you're lifeless and losing your mind. I'm feeling younger and younger the more I deny, self medicating the impending truth that I hide. This fallacy I cling to, the idols I praise, are vowing to cut me down and to dance on my grave. I promise I'm breathing, I'll never consider suicide. Please, take me now, while I can't feel it, while I can't see anything but the inside of my eyes. This is what I'm missing, your heart is what I lack. I can't help but hope that I'll go in my sleep, before my heart is attacked. I'm consumed by the hatred of a cynic. I've been worshiping a life without you and ignoring the facts, and now the dead gods that I pray to are eating the meat off my back. Some say all real men, they lived on their feet, and the faithful were fools who died on their knees. But this attitude is resultless, with no one to blame but themselves. I don't have much left, save for hope and enough gas to get me home. I sacrifice this to ask you to show me something to make me smile.

Adjust me, and make me forget the numbers.

Broken Bells

Ascending as far away from these power lines as I can, attempting to figure out where I've been and who I am, I'm trying to separate this place from my home. Distance myself from this state of mind that I call 'alone'. I am climbing, and I'm tired. Your claim for restoration will never be, you're blind as you dig your future graves. Chained down for this long, meager shackles in a complex prison. At the start, we're pinching pennies to buy ourselves into purgatory. Your selfish agenda precedes our endeavor of love, reformed to disguise yourselves as saviors and gods. No saints, just sinners. No one is safe. This paper is only paper, and will always be paper. Mere trees, cut down to size. Set flame to gold and watch it burn black. Pinching pennies, come holy hell or high water, they're on their way. Now the pollutants are rising with high tide, we will cry over spilled oil and then go home to hide. The path you walk, of which I stray, will never end - it will bend and will break. Liberated by the victims of our reversed justice. This broken bell you worship, it will sink. And the paper lord you've protected in glass, The ink will wash away, and with it our past. Ash is so hard to inhale, and harder to live with. Debris brings a mountain of regret, we all must ascend. This is our fault, hanging each other by our own ties, paying the church to hide the lies. Cover up the rape, cover up the assault on the spirit of youth. Make excuses. I'll never believe a single word. This is my sermon to a dead religion. God will prevail, as we inhale debris. Find yourselves in him, my brothers. Ignore the organized and collected. Hold your faith above an army of the dishonest and depraved. Steeples will burn, until we learn. Open your eyes, knock down the walls you've built around the light. Carve out the parts of your heart that have prevented you from finding truth. You are much too blind to see the blackness of your own heart, the double-sided faces of your pathetic lives. Heartless lives. Loveless lives. Without integrity, we trudge through lifeless lives. Eat your hearts out.

Tired Climb

Achievements present compost of past wars, human history, a tragic performance. Progress remains non-existent, these seasons constant, as we strive for perfection. Oh, here come the martyrs. Here to seek the attention and praise of the livestock and remedial. And we have sought out love, peace, and clarity by threatening the weak and numb, painting their faith black with absence and misunderstanding. We will conform to convert, but will we learn to see ourselves and love? You are not one to know. Cast aside our sins, our absolves, and our adjustments. Ignore all which makes us human, but not our greed. We're here to bleed what he creates. How loving is this? Your covenant is a crypt. I don't expect you to foresee what you're becoming. Ive put all my trust in you, and you spat it back out at me. We built the temples that never saw praise. Our testimonies appeal only to the demented and depraved. Our assumptions lead us astray, with no direction, a society of blind followers descend into disarray. Doomed to a repetition of sleepless nights. A routine but without hope. Without answers, without rebirth, dark days foreseen. All creation wilting, with no remorse for love. We fight a war for fuel and respect, but none for him above. Our future, teetering on a cliff side. Stillborn children stand as example. A future without conception seems appropriate, farewell procreation. Infertility, the final plague. Normality, here we come. And, the scholars! With their faith placed in chance and their own flawed methods. You are no savior, you're an obstruction. So bow your head below creation, for we are your children that will pave your last path, bury the elderly in the graves they deserve. Dead generations of ignorance and fear, now things of the past. Be with him, and leave us to save the world.

Rapture here, for the worst of us, at no payment. Rapture here, here for us, the poor and weak. Never getting further. Our righteous generation emerges from the ashes of what would have been the end. This is all I've ever dreamed of. We'll love like he did, help as we have been helped. They'll dream him dying, they'll dream him slain, and we will know him as our savior. Hope will not die. We will survive. Never forget.

The system that hung our fathers will run out of rope,
And we will stand outside the gates to make sure they never find home.

Strange faces.

If wasting my time with bad attitudes and causeless criticism heals your insecurities and medicates the impression of me you've fabricated -please, walk away from knowing that I exist and let your wounds close. I've never valued fixing relationships I didn't break, or having the option to keep in touch people who never cared about integrity, honesty, or respect. I do not intend on keeping a collection of you.

And I can promise, the altitude I will reside in shall leave you all with nothing to envy. You'll be hanging yourselves up to dry, wishing there was someone else to compare yourselves to. Hoping and praying you had been more open minded to accepting the falsehood and image you clung to for so long, instead of mocking those who oppose your pathetic, mediocre excuse for a life.

These escapes, these grotesque, meaningless, materialistic and tangible items will soon mean nothing to you, and because you held on to these, nothing will matter any more. You have basically owned nothing but denial for years. This is how mundane you actually are.

You've made a strange investment.