Love and confusion confounding the illusion of trust in a systematic regime which they deny ever existed but constantly promise to improve upon. The hat's shape and color may change, but our inability to exchange their deranged platforms for a stabler form of expression exposes our disillusion with dispossession and our embracing being complacent in the face of our rulers' all-encompassing corruption.

Before you judge me, Let me tell you my life story
I sure hope its not boring


In middle school
i was the little fool
getting beat up in the bathroom for being to critical
What, you think my remarks are too cynical
Hey squidward tentacles, you got a big nose, want me to break it
no you must be mistaken
so they beat me up and striped me naked, and left me shaking
thank god they left my clothes in the next stall
woulda been pretty awkward walking **** in the hall
But this was just the fall, haven't mentioned winter or spring at all

So from sixth to eighth grade you could see the bruises on my face
from where those jerks tried to tell me that that was their place

one day in art class i was painting on the paper
when some guy sitting behind me shot me with a stapler
Now if my mind had been stabler I woulda let it slide
but i was crazy back then so i tried to fight
punched em in the head, he musta been high
cuz he didn't flinch at all not a single inch
he grabbed me by my hair and threw me down
started punching me in the face like a ticked off Chris Brown
Now there is nothing you can do to wipe off this frown
Ive been a sociopath ever since that day

Funny when your own head is a double edged blade, huh?

I seem to find the imperfection of days to be the most beautiful. The goofy moments, the little mistakes, the figuring things out, the unexpected.

But those same moments sometimes lead me to the nights where I lay down with a little chip on my heart and concede, "Not all days will be beautiful."

I'm happier. I'm stabler. I must concede things are better.

So why can I not concede that I will never be perfect?

These days I end like this sometimes hurt much more than the ones I give up on. These are the days I did all I could and just accept defeat at the end of the day, knowing every day isn't perfect.

Why am I such a starving perfectionist that even stability cannot sate me?

I hate myself when I do this. When I keep on pushing and pushing my own mental ability until I crack. If I push harder the stability of my mental wall will not strengthen. It will only crumble all the faster.

I am never satisfied. I am selfish. I am wrong. There's this darker side to this pure, bubbly girl I show the world. The monster side. The side that I can never be pleased with, and the side that makes sure I can never be pleased with anything else.

I know this is one imperfect day with one imperfect night. But its hard not to be scared that this is a descent into darkness once more. I'm so scared of the dark by now. Please don't make me go back for too long.

This day has been long and disappointing and imperfect. But I just wish I could hate it a little less.

pretty picture in the globe
miss when it used to sing
you sang along, you sang to me.

but now, it's just a broken thing.

on the shelf, in my room
cobwebs clouding up my June
missing summers spent with you

but, sun don't shine when I am blue.


(now...)


blood stained feet
'cross broken ground
our earthquake tore apart this town

the ground shook as we waged wars.

our picture's not so pretty anymore.


*darling, hush, don't say goodbye
amongst the rubble, I'm sure we'll find
another love; a stabler life
our love was one born to die