“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.” - jim morrison

Good evening to the people who will waste seconds or minutes of their lives.

While delving myself knee deep into the ocean of self-doubt and self-exploration, some minute details surfaced.

One, I love to romanticize in vulgarities. I see the puns, I see the necessity, I see the importance. Something about the purity that is mixed with the likes of something dirty.
Absolutely cunt shrilling.

Two, I am terribly flawed but my heart is filled with only good intentions. Come to think of it, that should have been one. But honestly, who gives a fuck.

Three, no one can hurt me. I am my own worst enemy.

Lastly, all you ego masturbators, I leave you with the wisdom of Hank Moody.
Satisfaction is the death of desire.

in this journey of breaking through the self deprecating, self loathing facade,
i find solace through a viewfinder.
that is one thing that does not put on a mask.

we all walk this earth trying to be someone else.
the only way to be truly honest is with yourself.
i guess that's why the choice of being alone is commanded.
we can't go on drowning ourselves in pointless fucking.
as i try to type this tribute in the honour of your name or our pseudo relationship,
i begin to discover.
we both need a disaster to get by.

There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
- Oscar Wilde

No final tragedy or glory. Love came here and never left

I came to you in the light of day