Home Isn't Where It's At.

Years after years, home never felt like home.

And today, with the absence of me and my brother, home isn't what it is.

Now the blame is entirely only on one person, and not others.

Me.

Even if the sun would come crashing into the Earth, it would be my fault, as long as I stay under this roof.

There's a point where I can't stand this noise pollution, and that time has come.

The family's broken. I don't think there's anything else to believe in except for individual progress.











This vacation just turned into a living nightmare.











This isn't some kind of odd emo post, but I'm way pissed beyond all reasons at the moment. I'm just going to take one hell of a ride, and I can't be bothered if I cause an accident.

In other words, I seriously can't be bothered. Home is where I'm supposed to be alone. Home is where that I'm not entirely bothered. Home is where I'm better of being forgotten.











Permission to say "fuck" on this blog.