Someone took thier bitter pills this morning. Aroura age 16. suck it

Let’s compromise. I’ll fix my self if you fix your attitude. Fixing the world one cynical asshole, and one cynical bitch at a time. The truth is we want to, well fuck it, I want to believe there is true love, true monogamy, maybe just the truth in general. You know forever searching for a reason in war. And yah it’s fucked up how god will be my savior when I have no place else to go, god I will say; “ please I’m sorry, I can be better, repent my sins, save my soul, I no longer wish to endure earthly delights, or crave a deadly sin.”

Instead I wish to be a keen hypocrite, walking my ass along the busy road contradiction, steady as I go heading towards salvation. Look here’s my truth, or perhaps confusion whatever you want to call it. I give it to you in whole in trade for you tell me I’m good. It’s not really our fault though is it, sorry my fault. This world ate me alive and I, me alone, grinding my self in the blender, pushed down my own button of some kind of sick despair I can’t explain. But holy fuck it’s there, every time I wake up in the morning I take my own mind and take it all. Somewhere you don’t understand because you’re in a different blender. Yah, that’s what it comes down to, kitchen utensils and cheap metaphors. I could say dark holes, shadows of things I want to be, maybe hell. But you thought that anyway, so what’s the point, saying things you already know. I love all of you. Got you on that one huh? Kind of threw it out there. Well maybe I don’t love all of you. But Jesus I think I could. I know I could. We’re always just knowing stuff hey. What the fuck do I know? That I don’t know, yah, that’s what I know. Nothing. Lets rephrase. I want to love all of you. I want you to tell me things you didn’t know you could say. Yah tell me it hurts the most when it’s silent, and say you feel the most when it’s silent. It’s only love when the snow falls in the night, and hate with the streetlight. A forever seeing eye of the ugly things. your ugly things, my ugly things, whatever we’re all the same, you just don’t know it yet. Yah I’m a dope, but no one has ever told me it’s going to be all right. Suddenly clichés make sense and I want to be a yuppie. Yah, I know, I don’t want to be a yuppie. I just say things to say them. So I wanted to be a yuppie for a second. I don’t judge you. Fuck and these lies don’t stop do they, yah, I judge you. But honestly, I only want to know about your past, the things that make you smile, and make you cry. Don’t tell me your favorite color; I couldn’t care less. Or maybe it’s green because where you grew up there was this gargantuan green tree in your back yard, right in the view from your bedroom window. You used to spend hours looking at it lit up by the moonlight, swaying with the wind. It’s ludicrous I know, but I know you want to say you could of sworn it was talking to you. Telling you, yah, it’s okay, everything will be all right. It’s okay, you can say it, say that nothing has ever been as beautiful as that tree with snow heavy on the branches, nothing has ever comprehended your stare like that. Yah, you grew up, moved to the city, now you got a couple of fake plants in your apartment. But it’s going to be all right. Everything is all right in the end because nothing is what it seems. And you realize, yah, I’ve never been all right. And I’m all right. But excuse me, I don’t mean to be nuisance. But could someone save me now? I think I’m ready for it, the whole shebang, the tears, the “I had no idea” comments, the totally necessary hugs, and I love you. Yah, we’re all completely shit scared for anyone to know who we are in the nude. I see the irony in this, since it’s what we long for most, someone to know the naked truth. No, wait, someone to want to know me, I mean us. I mean like really want to know me, opps, us. Because honestly, I really just want to know you. Yep, no lie, tell me everything, I’ll take it in strides, and leave my opinion aside if you don’t want to hear it. I’ll even hug you if that’s what you need. And I’m awful at hugs, intimacy in general. But that’s another rant altogether isn’t it. I guess all I’m trying to say is, I’m flagging you down, my horn is roaring, I’m shooting my guns. But nobody is listening, nobody wants to hear I suppose. I wish Jesus would save me. But I don’t believe in him. Quite a predicament.

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