Nothing Sacred Here.
22 Years old.
War.
Books.
History.
MMA.
Boxing.
Strategy.
Driving.
iPhone.
Attempting to understand the theory and effects of warfare on the human psyche.
Hardcore Punk
Hip-Hop
Drone/Doom
Black Metal
Formspring.
I feel like pulling a “fight club” and destroying something beautiful.
Crash course in burning out. I said I’d never be the kind, so stuck in glory days they forget to let the dead bury their own. So what is this that’s trying to slow me down? Feels like the dead weight of all our broken promises and every stillborn declaration carried too far too long.
I remember the songs that saved me. And the words that came so easy. And the pulpits that sprang up beneath our feet. And it never even crossed our minds the words could ever be wrong. All that confidence wasted on the young.
We tapped that vein and bled it dry. Now nothing fits (yeah but what ever did?) We always thought that we had time. To let the dead bury their own. We always thought that we had time.
-Chris Colohan - Cursed
Martha Manning, Undercurrents (via latenineties) (via heathenancestry)
It’s the most important game of chance. Judging judgements with a glance. But a spade’s a spade, so it’s all the same. A different shade with a different name. I’ve got my eye on the queen of hearts, but I’m tired of searching through this house of cards because I’m playing for keeps. With nothing to lose, you can’t lose it all. - Touche’ Amore.












