abacusfinch

there's only so many things the human mind can decide, to which the human mind can find ways to apologize to other people about. the soul though we don't talk enough the soul and what it wants. what it craves. often times these cravings don't satisfy the romance and some times we bank on the romance so we sit looking at the different perspectives and we're never satisfied. the heart and all its glory, written in all the poetry, forged into all the prose. focused and cared for. rebellious in nature, its unforgiving. Take what you deserve, what you want, what you think will satisfy the soul. So we sit looking at different perspectives and w

Love stories are so fucking stupid. I love the way they portray love to be so clean simple straight on the edge. Fuck off. What I know about love is hard rough jagged, makes you feel like there's nothing nothing that can change. It makes you the most scared, the most frightened of a world without it. Love doesn't dance in the flower fields Love doesn't sing in the rain and love sure as hell doesn't run down the streets springing with joy and bliss. It makes you cold, it makes you hard. It makes you feel like you are nothing and when its gone you feel an empty that's never been there before.

truly blank eyes that stare into another soul but have their windows boarded so tight and hate the sun light that other's eyes provide. Lonely people surrounded by peers of many calibers and different people wanting to have a peak inside. I will show you the crack in the window shades if you let me open you wide. She never responded with a quick glance but a long stare forcing these blinds to disappear and reaching her hands out through the glass and grabbing what's mine. Not as I said it would be I tell her reaching for her wrist, a quick jerk and she's out and I stare back at her innocence. I will show you the crack, if you keep your go

She had a face with a permanent frown plastered from left to right. It was as if ugly had been embodied into a young girl too naive to know her real role. She sat next to a girl so average she'd be overlooked in any other place. It pains her to be ignored, but she laughs with excitement when her friend, frown and all, sits next to her. The mere comparison is a brutal fallacy of young women throughout the west. We are all in competition, I guess, that's just it.

We've faced the tyranny of men of our own blood. We've bestowed upon the world a view that is more egocentric than any other. We've hit the shores. We've made a mess. We defined what it means to be from the west; we've defined what it really means to be monsters. We've faced the tyranny of our own blood, and we've bestowed upon the world a tyranny all the same. We are the west; we are the war nations.

Its for those long nights of lonesome frights and apart of you missing yourself. Those nights in the suburbs of our cities. Slowly and surely pushing home. It's the nights here that make me feel like I'm apart of something so big that my small time small town mind can't wrap itself around. The nights here without her are the ones I need to see why I need her.

Submit yourself to the trash that you yes you have put together and so humbly called art. I called art, and they said stop don't do it don't push it. So I force fed myself the lines I'd spew for the others and managed to make something. For lack of a better expression, that something feels more like nothing.

I am so much more inclined to care about the progression and state of humanity and peaceful living circumstances that I forget I am one of those people that I have the best intentions for.

We've started our feet, one in front of the other, much like the way we were chained together. I looked ahead and behind and saw my fellow humans be devoured by the lines and the slow stepping motions that drove all of us forward. You couldn't stop, it would lull the line, adding tension to the front and a barrier to the back. The motions, the movements they consumed you. So I pushed myself forward, perfectly in time, hoping the one behind did the same. From as long as I can remember, this chain gang has moved, and these whips that cracked words that fooled us to think outside of our chains. Freedom, liberty, the

Some where in the middle of everything we've known to understand and comprehend I find myself, some times at large in odds against it all. But it's fine in my own mind that the world we know will never be the world I feel.