The Function of Art is to Provoke.

this thing is as old as moses. i should update more.

i looked at my hands,
and thought about everything i've done with them.
everyone i've touched, everything i've held.
and i felt my arms,
and i remembered everything i embraced,
so tightly, so gently, and how hard it was to let go of it all.

i looked through the sliding glass door from the back of my house,
and it was scary,
i was looking at myself,
my life,
everything that was happening then.

what a fucked up life this world is living,
and when everyone goes to bed,
it's all the same, our eyes close,
and our hearts settle, and the world goes black.

i want to go home, this place i live in, it isn't home.
that school, it isn't my school.
my friends aren't my friends,
and my enemies aren't my enemies.
in the end, i can only count on myself,
i am my only friend,
i am one person,
standing on a huge fucking battlefield.

one huge fucking battlefield.

i need to go. i want to go.
and i'll come back when i need to come back. 
i will never be the same.

there are dead rocks and burning bridges between us;
the distance increases not there but in our empty heads.
i swallowed every single digit from your hair,
it was approximately 13 inches of lies you grew.
i'm weary of the deaftone curves that outline your ear
and the facade of your mistaken snarl.

you're the spark on the tip of dynomite that
screams a chain reaction to those beneath you
and soon you'll bleed into the atmosphere
like watered down paint sinking into parchment.
a painting of what was once lost mocks the outlined rays
of the shamed sun, while curious clouds congregate
wondering why we tore the sky apart.

i confided in you as a compatriot but it only seemed that nothing ever mattered.
time only toyed with us as if we thought what we had built truly had a meaning.

but you didn't think so.

fit into me like a puddle of liquid dozing in my pores

grace their grounds as if they knew

how to trigger the nerves upon a heart attack.

like a monster their breath lingers and curls around my neck

choking the wired ghosts and mishaps, a dainty noose

that was once presented as a courteous jewel.

i carry their burden around my collabone with a dangling cameo

of a fictional person that they shouldn't have become.

San Francisco

Drop Bush on New Montgomery

We all move away someday
Tips of blurred streets
Dried flowers look beautiful to you
In a new reality we'll meet

Owl

the skyline was beautiful on fire
all twisted metal stretching upwards
everything washed in a thin orange haze

This journal from now on is for my creative writing, drawing, photography (mostly whatever I find suitable, not random pictures of stupid shit like coffee cans and electrical outlets. If you grasp my emotive concept you'll understand), and music composition purposes. Mainly just a place where I post stuff I do on my freetime.

So take this as an approach to publicly display my work, since I do not prefer DeviantArt (honestly I find it rather irritating to get around). If you'd like to read up on my personal life, you can read up on it on my LiveJournal.

I'll update once I'm inspired, so keep a look out and thank you for viewing.

Also, critique and comments are much appreciated in the future. :)