tarnished wasteland.

"Maybe earth is just hell for another planet." How do you decipher what matters and what doesn't? That is, if anything matters.

words that mean nothing.

How many times have I pondered upon this thought, replaying this scene, over and over again. Taunting yet immensely motivating, it fills me up with discomposure. Someone yet to be brought into existence, yet known so well in a way that cannot be understood by even the most grandeur of fools, willing to run away together, forever. Incomplete words, incomplete thoughts, never expected to be finished. But the catch? It is allowed.
As forks and paper plates once were, but no longer are. Things that don't make sense are of the norm, just another comfort to be embraced. Symptoms of hatred seen to be inexact belongings, much like far off galaxies are of to us. As for fear? Just another ink spot left unwanted, twiddling in self despair. Depositing everyone and everything down memory land, leaving it to ruins, letting it become just another blurred mist of the past. Just you and me, me and you. We whisk towards the perfect, golden, sun, which lay upon the pink horizon. Our lives never looked so perfect as we kick up dirt, running atop the winding abandoned path, never looking back. A place where our agony cannot find us.

mediocrity.

You know how you get extremely bored sometimes and have simply nothing to do, so you go online? And then you get bored being online so you just stay online, even though you don't really want to be online? But you still stay on, and don't do anything necessarily what you would call .. productive. So you just start browsing through sites, shifting through ranges of hard work masterpieces to trashy jot downs to felon reports to trying to figure out the meaning of life. And you just can't help but notice how many people out there, there are, that are better than you. People who live better lives, who are more knowledgeable in countless number of ways, who look stunningly gorgeous, who are your age and are set for life, who have skills you've only dreamt of having your whole life. You start to wonder what you yourself have accomplished, but without much surprise, you cannot name a single achievement you are boundlessly proud of that seems out of the ordinary. That's when you start noticing you're just mediocre. It's just the plain truth. Your parents have been telling you for ages that you are something special, you are unique- something no one can compare with. It's all a lie. You're just an average Joe.

forgotten ruins.

I get bored quite easily. When boredom kicks in, the results can be quite tragic. Unfinished projects, once eager and ambitious to create, lay scattered and half buried in ruins beneath the depths of year old reminiscences reside in my room. Hidden and forgotten, these abandoned pieces once a part of me, even if just for a few hours, reveal their priority and sense of meaning. Everything you've create will always have a stance in what you become. It's silly how easily we seem to forget and how naturally we come to ignore but not entirely forgive. Those are the cases that haunt you forever but as they say, "Time heals all wounds." But is such a cliche true?