Anywhere But Here

Trade howling in fits of ecstasy for weeping in waves of sorrow; life is a series of these ups and down. We’re cut, we bleed, we scab over, and then we grow again. Our skin is renewed but gently marked, scarred forever with the painful experiences of the past.



Tucked in our boats, some with sails, others with oars, and some just scraps of wood, we ride the waves of the ocean we’re all poured into as we escape from the womb. Rocking in our vessels we bump in the turbulent waters and ride the waves. Sunk in the trough of a wave its often difficult to remember the crest that you’re surely bound to sail into. Learning how to have faith when all hope and happiness seems broken is what much of growing up is.

The indescribable satisfaction that comes in self-destruction…an act refined by this most recent generation. Glamorized and publicized; an entire people focused on mass produced “suffering”. It just doesn’t have the same impact anymore, but to the people who don’t care if anyone is listening, reading, watching, or thinking, it’ll carry on with steady, damaging, persistence...despite the fact that it is positively ridiculous.

Suffocating your body of fluid, its so easy to watch your blood congeal to sludge and feel your heart pound with exhaustion even in sleep. Weight dips, waist slips, and soon you’re smaller than you probably should be.

Well I’m jumping from this boat and I’m going to surf these waves. I’m sick of this trough and I’m catching me a crest to somewhere new. I’ll let you know what its like when I get there.

P.S. I really miss opening up my door and finding four boys outside it...