Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter like a hard-hearted enthusiast

I am ill-equipped.
I cannot win the hearts of those that I love. I cannot win admiration, or fond farewells. I cannot win a ukulele. I cannot win. And it is dismally dull. And to that one for which I hold onto foolish notions and unfortunate familiarity: All I want is the best for our lives. I want you happy, and light. And what of those days when we sat in beautiful silence? Well , I'll just cast those off with an appropriate cemetary smile, and hope that somewhere you are counting ants on trees, and ice in glass. There is a light, and it never goes out.. but it is sometimes forgotten.

It's really bursting at the seams, absorbing everything.

Metamorphosis. (YOUTH)


It is a continuous change, a tearing off of one's own skin to make way for a different self. Are we indifferent to our suffering, or do we take pride in this violent transformation. Our figurative bodies, flayed and bloodied, cry out for something more than it's boundaries. Is it so strange, that we should want to shred, break, tear, grind, strip, and stab? The light within us is mutinous. It must get out.