Monday, May 9, 2011

As angels made from neon raise their open filthy stinking palms.

Subjectivity is the name of the game.   Living in the hollowed out husk of someone else's dream.  We strive for a place where we can rest our weary bones, but hope that that place isn't made up of the people you've hurt.

Forgiveness is easier then hating the world.  Growing, maturing, perspectives change but do we ever really grow closer to knowing ourselves?  Perfection is an ideal that can make you lose sight of your way.

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