(via breakingeggggs) i had no idea my old friend susette decided to get all talented in art and shit
soraya.
i will pray for your story to live,
your death, the daughter of man.
they plotted your end, but your tales’s been told.
recorded and scribed to the western world.
dreaming of redrawing the line.
wishing hard to tear them to shreds,
like a book, stained red.
your knight in shining, bloodied armor.
to hell with me, for hypocrisy.
of the seven, i’m sworn to wrath.
unlike your prayers for their sins.
tender and warm, all their mother.
bastard sons of a devil come.
I always hear people saying, “I write to make sense of what’s going on in my head.” I, however, can’t write a fucking thing while generally confused or frustrated to the point where I have trouble feeling any other way than simply frustrated. Confusion needs to lead to mental order and frustration needs to lead to one climactic and focused, but not necessarily final, emotion before I can write more than a couple words that amount to nothing but a trite and succinct skeleton. To me, uncertainty equals confusion and I feel so uncertain about a couple things in my life that it’s confusing and thereby, frustrating. So, I don’t want to and couldn’t even write about it if I wanted to. Isn’t that strange? There’s only two things I’m sure about: I’m very much in love with someone and I want to go to law school. One I’ve written about ad nasum, of course that being love; the other is not really worthy of creative expression.
I suppose I’ll have to unearth emotions of my past to “sow the seeds of creation” until I’m certain enough to feel how I need to feel to write honestly and openly. I’d rather remain silent than fake it just to seem like I am prolific as I’d like to be.
Deep, man. Deep.
Love isn’t him calming you down when you yell. It’s him yelling, just as loud, just as hard, right back at you, right in your face to wake you up and keep you grounded. It isn’t him bringing you roses everyday or cute things that make your relationship appear more presentable. It’s after a long fight, that drains the life and bones out of both of you, and yet him showing up at your door the next morning anyway. It’s not him saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle you. It’s not him caressing your hair and telling you everything is going to be alright. It’s him standing there, admitting he’s just as scared as you are. You have to remember that with love, you’re not the only one involved. You’ve unknowingly put your life, your heart into the palms of another person’s hands and said, “Here. Do what you will. Mash it into mince meat, or forget I ever handed it to you.
“
| — | (via obliteratedheart) (via lastnamepine) |
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i am still making music with SOMETHING ABOUT DEATH OR DYING…a little sample from our EP
cold blood.
chase your innumerabe dreams. you and i were meant to be loved and crazy…cold and crazy.
one can only bite a bullet for so long before it fires,
but i’m clenching tight to stop from spreading fire.
burning up and seething from appeasing all the liars,
she cools me down in hiding and keeps me on the wire.
walking tightropes, hand-in-hand, we conspire and perspire,
publically anonymous, laying low, can’t get no higher.
it hurts my neck to duck, it keeps us drier.
i want to spread our wings, but i’m caught in this barbed wire.
shake you all, we’ll prove you wrong, and reveal this grand desire,
realized and true, you’ll be preaching to our choir.
Who would have thought a Chimaira song would be so relative to me right now
Cleansation
What do you expect from me? Will I ever be what you want me to be? Will I ever live up to your standards? Will you always look down on me? Maybe I’m not who you are. Maybe I want to be myself. Live the life I’ve always dreamed about. This is not your path to choose.
