It's over.

I just wrote a huge long post and it got erased so I'm gonna go kill myself now. I'll try and re-write it later.

I really don't want to be here.

Picking favorites.

Here are some quotes from blogs I LOVE.
(Hey Nelson I'm stealing like an artist.)

But when I woke up next to you I felt immortal. And the Gods can stay in bed as long as they want.
-Esther Greenwood

It's not that I like the silence, it's just that we've had so much time to say all that we could ever say.
-Phyllis Dae Sloan

If life's about living why do we have stop signs? What are yellow lights, and who the hell thought it was a good idea to countdown how long people have to walk across the road.
-Sally J. skinny Love

We try to tread the steps and we try to fall were our foot lands but sometimes the nature inside of us chooses a different course.
-Summit Endori

Your heart is made up of a million rhymes and every romance language ever spoken.
-Susan Atkins

fake your death so everyone will leave you alone. Remember, this is most important, PEOPLE = PAIN.
-Mr. fox

I know you came here for instructions. You want to know how to wash a horse or how to fix a flat tire or how to stop a feud between your two best friends That's what you really want. Not some lame diatribe from a scared girl behind a computer screen. Because that's all I really am.

-Charlotte Charles.

Sometimes

I want to fly away. Just feel the breeze from night until tomorrow.

Please read the owners manual for instructional use.

Owners manual:

The heart. How to love, my God don't ask me. For I know nothing of this love. And no matter what his song says, lil Wayne doesn't know how to love anything but weed, women, and his horse teeth.

Don't ask me what love is, because ill tell you what I think. And trust me, you don't wanna hear what I think, because ill get off on a tangent talking about some girl I'm madly in love with.

But if you want to know how to love, that's all up to you. There is no specific way to love. But I can tell you how to know if you're in love.

Now we all have a different concept of love, whether it be someone's looks, personality, or just the thought of them. But let me tell you, love isn't an easy thing.

Oh my God what does this kid know about love? Why the hell is he telling me how to know if I'm in love? He's just a teenager! He's just being a whiny little kid, who can't get over his ex girlfriend because he thinks he loves her.

If you're in love, you won't care what they dress like or how they act, you'll be there for them and you'll catch them when they fall. You will kill them if they sincerely asked you to take their life, and kiss them as they took their last breath and put their hand on the blade sticking through their chest where you used to lie your head when you wouldn't feel so good because your parents don't want you to love them. The chest where their heart is, where you'd put your hand and feel their heartbeat pumping so fast because they are with you, and their heart is beating just the way yours is because your hearts connect like some jumper cables on the old cars that are your hearts. You both share a past of being bullied. Of being called the stupid kid who cuts them self because they want attention.

Because you're trapped in a small black box with no air holes, and your mouth taped shut, when you just want to scream your lungs out, but you can't because it won't matter. You both are trapped in a small black box placed several inches away from each other just to torture you.

You know you're in love when you're with them, and nothing else matters to you. Not your grades in school, when you're late for work or class, when you just try your hardest to see them.

When they tell you things you never wanted to hear about them, and sure a few tears are shed, but you still think you love them,

You probably do.

Would it matter?

If I wasn't here tomorrow, would anybody care? Would anyone lose sleep? Who would cry me an ocean and say that they missed me? Or Are we all in a masquerade, wearing masks with false impressions printed across our skin? If one says they love me and another they admire me, what do they truly think? He's too critical, so cynical, and he whines about some girl all the time. Would he just stop it? I'm sick of his voice and that obnoxious laugh. The way he dresses is so drab, and he really is too loud.

I think often about faking my death, and going to my own funeral, just to hear what people think of me.

But then again, at funerals, everyone says the positive. Nobody ever says anything negative at a funeral, because that's just disrespectful. I want to go in someone else's body. Find out the truth. So that I can fix myself.

We're all Kinda like an old, dusty raggedy Ann doll. We all are made a certain way, to a certain creators specifications. And we always try and change that doll. We pull out the stitches, and rip off the button eyes, but truth is, we don't know how to sew it back together. We do what we can to impress every single peer, just stabbing it with a needle and thread, thinking we're sewing some gorgeous creation, but all we really create is a monster. Just like the people we model our dolls after. A pincushion. With all the pins, people pin their opinions on our voodoo doll, like it's Pinterest, pinning pins we like, when we don't realize, that the needles and pins damage our souls. Our souls are not a pincushion, our souls are a porcelain doll. So fragile and beautiful, and some rather creepy... Take care of your soul like some vintage old doll. Don't let anyone touch it, like it's your most prized possession. Like your collection of hot wheels, or dumb Barbie dolls. Or maybe if you're satanist, your furby collection.

Don't let anyone touch it, don't let them take. Don't even let them add to your collection, because you want the pride and joy of knowing that you collected it all yourself. Look ma, no hands!

Now I guess what I'm saying is don't listen to others opinions. Let your doll be. Let your creator be the one to stitch you and sew you. Tell your peers to fuck off, because you're beautiful to someone. No matter who you are.

Stolen.

1. I fight the death of me no longer.

2. Why do we attack those who stand away from the crowd?

3. Disaster hits in times of need.

Hipsters?

So I guess I'm a hipster now. Well what is a hipster? Just a weird kid who shops at the d.i., loves Polaroids, photography, button up flower print t-shirts with the buttons buttoned all the way up, with the tube socks, (they must be fleece) the pointy shoes, completely worn out, the half shaved hair, swept over so neat. The big square black glasses, and for the girls, lipstick so red, old ancient blouses and poorly groomed hair, and last but most definitely not least, ORIGINALITY. originality? Why is that so wrong? Stupid hipsters and their poetry and journals. Stupid creativity and isolation from the busy bees buzzing around the hive. A life of peace and quiet cold nights. We should aspire to be like these beings for being the thing that adults tried to kill. We fear all these crayons and pencils and pens! Write an essay! Read a book! Do ALL THAT WESAY. take math, sports, and science, let art be an elective. Art? We don't need that in the real world. The real world is a cold lonely place. So cliche, but so very true. The world will step on you, hit you and scratch you. It will make you bleed and do every thing they can to strip you of that creativity. That imagination and originality. That's why I aspire to be like these hipster kids. Because they know what it's all about.

I remember

I remember when I first started liking metal. I thought nothing was better. I remember the way it made my heart race faster than NASCAR, to the beat of the drums. To this day, i will die for it. And I am proud to be a metalhead. I remember when my parents found out I liked metal. They were pissed. Just because I like metal doesn't make me evil. Yeesh. I remember when I first met a girl who liked metal. She was pretty cool. I remember when I went to the bmx thing at her house. I felt so out of place because I was a skater. I remember when I never actually got better at skateboarding so I picked up music. I remember my first time playing a guitar. I broke the first string tuning it. It hit me in the face. Since then, I've been terrified of tuning it. That's why I have 2 guitars, one for low tuning, and one for standard. I remember when I got my new guitar. I was the happiest man alive. I remember when the floating bridge on it sucks really bad. And the strings keep breaking. I remember when my brother became a brony. I cried for 29 minutes. Because my life was over. I remember when I was bored with this post because its not really inspiring.