(no subject)
this place exists on jumbled ideas and feelings of dis-satisfaction. Paint cannot cover the blood on these walls. I can't grasp this dream, I can only hide it, cloak the other and smother you. force fed lies of a meaningful life full of riches, treasures and fame. Fed the idea that love is the ultimate comfort and pleasure. With each dying day it becomes more and more evident that no, we will never be happy, no we will never be rich, no we will never be known. We live to die, and to die is our prize. Our dreams only anger us.
you are so fucking out of reach.
you are so fucking out of reach.