All that you've left here for me are pieces of what used to be.

Cold blood never dries

The Risk of Choice

The surface of calm, midnight waters breaks and surrenders to the surrounding air. A fragmenting mass of liquid is launched into strange winds to kiss the evening breeze. Moonlight dances within the confines of rippling water. The seas give way to the skies just as hope gives way to change.

Each day we break the surface of our own waters, emerging from the depths of our own symbolic mediums, carrying with us the expectations that greet the constant change faced each time we take a step in a new direction. Every choice made is a conscious decision to gamble with the hopes we cling on to, putting our expectations on the line to be either fulfilled or denied. The paths we decide to follow are paved with either fulfillment or disappointment, and it is our uncertainty regarding the outcome of our decisions that renders every choice we make a risk. There is no escape from the every day risks faced as a result of making choices, for even those who refuse to make choices and embrace change have made conscious the decision not too. These reluctant few, however, are taking the greatest risk, for they will never know what they could be missing.

Collage- Memories

Transparent-

Why carry on when each breath you take only fuels your pain?
Why pray when you are aware that you're praying in vain?

Dawn-

I'm not sure what is darker; the night on which you left us, or the shadow that took your place. Emptiness stalks me like a vulture, getting high on my distress as it waits for me to collapse. I see less of the sun these days, though I anticipate its illuminating warmth. It is not that I see the sun less frequently, but rather with less comfort and reassurance than it once brought me; it shines a duller shade of light. All is darker where the sun dawns over sorrow. 

Shedding-

Young but aging, I waste away in my skin. With thinning hair and two black eyes, I watch the world. You can find me decomposing as I sit with my face pressed against the window pane; wondering if the grass is truly greener beyond this shield of glass. I clutch my soul in my left hand and my heart in my right. I swallow my soul and purge my pride; Sometimes, relief is worth the price you pay. I have the world at my fingertips but dreams in my mind. Forsaken by life itself, I close my eyes and build a mental empire of my own; I choose to live in a reality in which I am in control. I choose to imagine.

Giving Up-

For so long I have focused on the primary concern of bettering myself. Over and over I have attempted to improve both my state of mind and appearance to conclusively fail, resulting in detrimental effects to my self-esteem and sense of hope. Through trial and error, I have simply damaged myself; by proving that I am incapable of overcoming the intangible obstacles that I have for so long faced. I must face the reality that is my unsparing vulnerability.

I am dependent; I am weak. I find no comfort through seeking treatment for that which cannot be treated. There is no relief through the indulgence of my arsenal of medication. At best, I am numb; I am the scar tissue in which nerve cells cannot reside. At my worst, I am destructive; I skim the surface of an exposed powder keg with a lit match just to see whether or not it will blow. I suppose you could say I have a fixation towards Russian Roulette.

And so I have succumbed to my flaws and given in to my demons; I am consumed with such potent apathy as I wait for my insecurities to devour me. There is barbed wire embedded beneath my skin and the more I try to remove it, the more damage it does. It is far less painful to give in rather than to fight an undeniable enemy. And for what would I go through such trouble? To continue an internal battle that will forever burden me? No. Call it cowardly, but I refuse to fight the tide; I would much rather float. And if I happen to sink to the very bottom of the sea, may I at last be at peace.

Et Tu, Brute?

The experience that is betrayal is nearly always accompanied by confusion. Today, I pace these aching floor boards perplexed by the travesty of a friendship that has now met its end. How can it be that the very hands which once held me now drive daggers into my back? How is it that such a familiar face can become that of a stranger with the thrust of a blade? 

I look to you now and see not an admired friend, but a nameless traitor. What incentive drives you to step into the dark and greet me with your Judas kiss? A Trojan horse has slipped past my defenses but leaves me no explanation for its treason. The pain you have caused me is lesser only than the shame it brings. Seldom does a tear drop from my weary green eyes; tonight they teem with rivers.

Fallen Angel-

Dear Readers-

I have set up a second blog strictly to display any visual work i have done including photography, paintings, drawings, and collages. I will continue to post some of these elements on this page, but the majority of my visual projects will be posted to the page linked below:

http://solitudeartcollection.blogspot.com/

Thank you.

Secrets-

Drawn with pencil and charcoal.

Six Strings-

Taken by D. James Santos

Weary Queen-

An off-white dress
dances to the ballad of the wind.
An emerald field of memory
whispers words of tranquility.
The girl:
so innocent; so pure;
draws together her weary eyelids,
like velvet stage curtains,
to rest beneath the moonlight.
With a sigh
she slips out of her skin
and into her mind.
Tides of serenity flow through her
as she floats atop sweet reverie.
Drifting,
drifting,
she finds peace within her dreams. 

Corrosive-

I sense your presence, though you are miles away. I can feel the ice in your veins and I can hear the decay that is your raspy breath. Not a moment passes that I am free from your callous stare. It penetrates me; surpassing my flesh and entering the realms of my nauseous mind. There, it eats away at the contents within my skull; killing me slowly from the inside as externally, I appear to effortlessly waste away.

I am ugly. I rot in my anguish and corrode with the days as they drag on like the span of an anxious cigarette. I am putrid; immersed in the filth of shame and envy. I count the moments spent aimlessly seeking to escape the firm grip of your coarse manipulation. They are many. In agony, I tread through the damp fields of memory; abundant with remorse and disgust. Seldom do I realize how relentless is the grasp of my mindless addiction. I have no choice but to give in to my oppressive delirium. 

Let Us Give Thanks and Praise-

I feel as though I am fighting an internal war. My mind is a battlefield, defaced by the relentless onslaught of every day stresses. The simplest tasks now seem unfeasible. Even in sleep I am unable to rest, forever haunted by the mere thought of waking up. Another day, another battle. Who wins a war fought with oneself? I am succumbing to the pressure of the weight of the world. So crushing is its force. I asphyxiate on the very air I breathe.

An empty house. A feast of prescription pills and shame. A pain no sedative can dull. Happy Thanksgiving. I was once so alive, flowing with energy and motivation. Look at me now. Can you bear to see the wreck I have become, the mess you have made? Some acts are unforgivable. I have been so sympathetic until now. Tell me, stranger, can you smell the apathy on my breath as I can smell the liquor on yours? Repent to whichever god you please, but you shall never reconcile with me. I hope you choke on your guilt.

Dear DCF,

Knocking on the door in your tucked in dress shirts; where were you when I needed you? Making an appearance, just a little too late; for reasons unworthy of discussion. Take me away in your run down sedan; you cannot fix the damage that has been done. You couldn't spare the moments when the violence set in, why offer your time when the smoke has finally cleared? Expressing concern through those deep hollow eyes, searching my soul for what I will not say. You will find nothing; in your absence I have mastered the art of deceiving. Do you write of your guilt in your alphabetized files? Do you question yourself whilst interrogating me? Ask me why our eyes don't meet when our words are exchanged. Question my honesty; my imperceptibly counterfeit honesty.

The World is A Cold Shoulder

Inside the Caldera

A picture I took from inside the caldera of a volcano in the Azores.

Ponta Da Barca

Carapacho

Sunrise Over Portugal

I took this photo from Monta D'Ajuda on the Island of Graciosa in the Azores. I touched it up a bit w/ Picasa. The view is from a church on the mountain where my family and I stayed.

My New Drawing

I just drew it today. I used pencil and charcoal, it is supposed to be the virgin Mary holding her son with a tear in her eye. Comment on it and give me some criticism or input!

Madness-

                                                                                                                                  X/XX/XXXX

The walls are watching; they examine my motions with their plasterboard eyes. Such mannerisms they have, snickering on my behalf. I suppose they find me amusing, why, I cannot determine. Everyone has an opinion, whether it be their own or another's. I am amazed as to just how provoking the simple wall can be. They taunt me, clearly in hopes that I will give into their mind-games and leave the confides of my room. Nay, such shall not be done.

I have one window, one lonely window, within my room. It has no eyes, it has no voice. I suppose said window could potentially speak to me had I not boarded it up. I have no use of a window, besides, wooden planks are far more ornate than a false view of the world fabricated by them. They have created all of the illusions which we misconstrue as reality. They invented the concept of time, which is of course thoroughly nonexistent. Today is Noneday, tomorrow is Noneday, yesterday was Noneday. Right now it is none-o'clock. Weeks; Months; Years; Lies. These words are all synonymous. Of course, words are nonexistent as well, but this I mustn't tell you.

I prefer not to breathe. I hold my breath for as long as I can manage to, for air is impure and has been recycled through the disease-ridden lungs of humanity for what they would call centuries. There is no closure in breathing. I am bringing this entry to an end now, for I am growing weary of myself.

Perception

 Perception is existence, for it is how we perceive things that gives them meaning. Life itself bares no particular significance without the presence of perception. Vision is how the brain processes images to be sent to the brain. Intelligence is the brain's ability to rationalize such images and provide us with an unbiased portrait of what lay before us. Perception, on the other hand, is how the soul views, absorbs, and understands that which we see. It is how one perceives that determines whether the glass is half empty or half full; it is how one perceives that differentiates a living hell from heaven on earth. Perception is the thick shroud of uncertainty which develops around the ever blinded depths of logic. For some, due to their tendencies to perceive things in a positive way (optimists), Perception is a gift. For those who perceive their surroundings in a more negative way (pessimists), perception is a curse. Though the perceptual spectrum is far more diverse than simply optimism and pessimism, i digress. I for one, would classify myself as a realist. A realist is one who sees things how they truly are; one who lacks the misleading haze known as perception. Just as optimists may be thought to be blessed, and pessimists cursed, I find that realists are subsequently left ignored. Personally, I prefer being left ignored, for my point of view is never clouded with distortion; this world is distorted enough already. To me, to be ignored is to be blessed... in far more ways than one.

All That Glittlers Is Not Gold

Alas, I have returned to the comfort of my own bed from the unfamiliar lands I have for so long been travelling. Though I arrived home at the airport with no more than thickly packed suit-cases in my hands, I returned to this world with much more than that. The souvenirs of utmost importance which I possess from my three-week journey cannot be stored inside any sort of tangible luggage, nor detected by the heaps of security equipment found in every international airport. Essentially, neither can these precious reminders of my travels be felt by the groping hands of your local TSA agent. This is as it is due to the fact that what I brought back with me from my leave to Europe has become a part of me itself. Even under the circumstances that I could leave behind and forget the memories of my excursion, I couldn't possibly leave behind how those memories have altered me.

Through the lessons I have learned and the knowledge I have gained, my experiences in living as part of an unfamiliar culture have bent and shaped my personality, mind, and soul. In this sense, if I returned to America with nothing but the clothes on my back, I would not have returned empty handed. Simply because memories and gained insight cannot be claimed through customs upon returning to the streets from whence you came does not mean that they are of less significance than material objects. In opposition, I for one believe strongly in the absolute dominance of the intangible over the tangible in such circumstances. The reason that things such as moral values, intelligence, memories, etc. contain no price tag is not because they are of less value than that which can be priced, but because they are to precious for their value to be measured in currency.

Fortunately for me, I have attained memories and knowledge in excess. In a time where the economy is failing, and in a materialistic sense I could easily be considered poor, I know that I am truly rich where it actually matters (as cliche as it may sound). As a wise man once said, "All that glitters is not gold."

So now, as I recline in my stiff mattress surrounded by my belongings that aren't quite up to par, though I am reminded by my surroundings that I may be financially inept, I am simultaneously comforted by the fact that what I possess is of much greater value than all of the money in the world; what I have gained in Portugal is far more precious than what a stockbroker gains on wall street; what I have learned through experience is of more significance than that which they teach in Harvard. And with these thoughts, I can put aside my sorrows and let my own little luxuries croon me to sleep; and what pleasant dreams I will have.

Never trust anyone... not even yourself.

The Ten Cynic Commandments:

I. Thou shalt not trust.
II. Thou shalt not make yourself a false image of the goodness that exists not in people.
III. Thou shalt not take the name of trust into consideration.
IV. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it lonely.
V. Honor no one who fails to honor you.
VI. Thou shalt not murder unless thou has a firm alibi.
VII. Thou shalt not marry, for thine spouse shall adulter.
VIII. Thou shalt not trust one's intentions.
IX. Though shalt not bare false trust against thine neighbor
X. Though shalt not trust thine neighbors wife, servant, ox, donkey, nor house.

Prayer for Michael

Dear readers,

Recently, a good friend of mine has found himself in the grasp of a deep coma. Though only fourteen, he suffered a heart attack in the middle of nowhere only to be found later face down without a pulse. As a result of oxygen deprivation, he is currently in a comatose state. Today, I payed Michael a visit in his not-so-cozy room in the ICU. Though it seems that he is making improvement each day, Michael still has a long road to recovery ahead of him, granted he wakes up from this coma. Although none of you may know him, all I ask is that you pray for my close friend's recovery. Michael is still only fourteen years old, and is far from finishing his life here on earth. I cannot help but to feel helpless given the circumstances, but in times like this, all we can do is pray and let fate handle the rest. God Bless.

                                                                                                                        -Derek Santos

Greed

Of all of life's lessons, there is just one that I feel will always stick with me; rely on no one, for everyone leaves in the end. I know how it feels to be deserted. I know how it feels to be put on a shelf to collect dust like a cheap Christmas card from an indifferent relative. Truth be told, man is a selfish race. Over the years of being used just to be cast aside, it has become apparant to me that even those seeming most altruistic are meerley skilled at hiding their egotistical tendancies. Every selfless action has a selfish motive. In both charity and malevolence, the same incentives are at work. It is vital to trust no one, and when in doubt, remember: everyone is the same. Everyone is driven by the same greed and everyone possesses the same lust for self-fullfilment. Never forget that greed is the most powerful force in existence, and its strength cannot be measured by any means other than the strength of the will in a selfish man's heart

"I feel no sorrow for myself, for I have already mourned my own death."

- Derek Santos

Depression

Fear resides within me. Forever present within me is the dreaded sinking sensation in the pit of one's stomach, too often triggered by the generation of tension in everyday situations.  Trembling is to me just as natural as breathing. My mind itself suffers constant convulsions; waves of pain flow throughout my body as my  brain writhes in torment. Mental? No. This phenomenon is far to intense to be of emotional magnitude. Physical? Doubtful. All physical affliction can be traced back to a tangible origin. Spiritual? Perhaps. It does so feel as though my existence is being painstakingly drained by an unknown entity; no, quite the contrary; a familiar friend. This particular acquaintance was not introduced to me during the wasteful hours of playing in the sands of my childhood. Neither has this neighbor become known as a result of my past experiences at school. Rather, this parasitic companion of mine has always been a part of me. From birth to my highly anticipated death, this consort has always been there for me; when no one else was. Her name is depression. She is never lonely, depression always has me by her side. Though painful and deadly, depression is not contagious. She cannot spread from person to person, for once she finds you, she never leaves. Even when days are bright and the sky is clear, always remember; she has not forgotten you. Depression never forgets. So incontractable yet fatal, she is a silent killer, yes, for depression is cancer of the soul.

You never know where a road may lead until you walk its course with open eyes.

Bliss

Charred oak trees catch my eye as I walk through this field of ashes. What's left of my cherished memories seep through the spaces between my fingers like dust. Each grain has it's own story to tell, whether it be melancholy, hate-filled, or sweet. Despite the past they may have had, they now all look the same. I feel as though I may have been here once before, maybe twice. There is a sense of familiarity among the debris in this pasture of broken dreams. I am all alone here, there is no one around to neither guide me, nor harm me. It is better off that way; for there will be no one to miss when they decide to leave me like they always do. There is comfort in this land of wreckage, where both hate and love share the same texture. Everything is neutral; grey, soft, and bringing no burden or joy to me. I think I like it here; this land may be dull and my emotions may be numb, but at least there is no pain or memory here to provoke a single trace of tears. Rather than wallowing in my sorrow, I wallow in sheer nothingness, as I lay in a pool of ashes in this field of empty promises.

There is no deeper meaning in life, only a deeper question. -Derek Santos

For Camden Pierce Hughes

As precious as a gemstone,
As sacred as Holy Christ,
Yet fragile as glass slippers
Is a cherished child's life.

For those who sow in tears
Will in heaven reap in joy
And among god's choirs of angels,
Is a blessed little boy.

He is proof that only the purest
Of our souls does The Lord choose,
And so he took from us
Our little Camden Pierce Hughes.

Remember he is with God now,
Looking down on us from above,
And always in our prayers,
Where he shall never go unloved.

Everlasting is his spirit,
Though his mortal life has ceased,
He will forever sleep in paradise,
Little angel, rest in peace. <3

                    ~With Love and Condolences, Derek Santos

Blood & Ink

This feeling is too familiar,
Like a distant, admired, friend.
Like a deer stuck in the headlights,
I'm just waiting for the end.

It's only a matter of time now,
Before time is one with fate.
The seasons of love have left us
And been replaced with winters of hate.

Frost seals shut my eyelids,
The windows to my heart.
I've grown so cold and bitter,
Since the day you chose to part.

Cut down this ancient oak tree,
Count all of my hidden rings.
Shred me into paper,
Spread your angel wings.

Save all hope for later,
Right now we just need trust.
The truth is chiseled in stone,
The past blows by like dust.

I'm nothing but an insect,
You may not be anything more,
But to me you are oh so perfect,
My princess, my darling, his whore.

Kill me with your beauty,
Love me with your life.
Heal me like a bandage,
Cut me like a knife.

Natural Imbalance

Some feelings seem to never change,
They live on when even faces fade.

Some memories will never die,
Though dreams are rarely kept alive.

Some wounds appear to never heal,
This pain I will forever feel.

Why are visions overwhelming me
While some eyes will never get to see?

Who bares the burden of the blind?
Why do some seek and others find?

How many swallows does it take
If one does not a summer make?

Some problems will resolve themselves,
But most require a little help.

Enlightened

Thoughts swim through my mind like salmon heading upstream, as emotions arise from inside me like a phoenix from warm ashes. The prime focus of my mentality is no longer intact within my brain and as my skin flushes, a wave of comfort overcomes me, and pain is diminished as you duck under the shroud of steam into your inner sanctum. The disturbances in your conscience are swept away and dissected, revealing their benign nature. Speculation on every moral aspect of society sets in with a brush of self understanding. The Buds have blossomed, revealing for the first time your true self. Stress is lifted from your body with the relief of violent pleasure, it has come time to harvest the fruit of the tree of life. Go out into this world with an open mind, return with magnificent insight and cognitive function. Only the impartial can rise to nirvana to achieve enlightenment, and only the enlightened can enjoy the lush fields of the lord's paradise.

Collage- Censorship

(click on picture to enlarge)     [made with microsoft word 2010]

My new collage, the mans face obviously represents censorship, the eagle in the cage represents being stripped of freedom (seeing as the eagle itself is a symbol for freedom), and everything else is quite obvious! Feedback?

Strength

My tired soul is stained with sin,
From waging a war I cannot win.
I've grown so weary,
These eyes are teary,
The dampest they have ever been.

Until the end I'll ever fight,
For the sanctity of what is right.
Through rain and hail,
I will prevail,
Although the end is out of sight.

Yet here i am, still standing strong,
Trying my best to carry on,
And through it all,
I will not fall,
I'll persist until the pain is gone.


Even when I bruise and bleed,
Deprived of all that I need,
I will never submit,
I cannot quit,
I'll do what it takes to succeed.

The Dissipation of Time

The passing months seem to blow by in a daze. My sense of physical feeling has dismally gone numb, for in your current state of abscence, the touch of no one elses' hands will do. Though we are young at age, I grow ancient each minute that I lack your prescence. It is as though I am laying in my deathbed in solitude, while you are astray experiencing the world, growing, flourishing. You are captivating, in form and in essence. The meere brush of your lips is enough to save me from my impending doom. Such a simple task, but it is devoid of your will to carry it out.  Time is rapidly escaping, an imposing grain of sand teeters on the edge of the hourglass; just one kiss and it shall not plummet with my soul. Just one kiss, one kiss I will never recieve.

The cycle of life.

With nobody by my side, I trudge through these murky waters, searching for a sign of light. The debilitating haze of depression reduces visibility levels to zero. What can I do but aimlessly carry on in an unknown direction, not knowing what lay ahead? I wander through nothing but blackness, strikingly inhibiting in it's utmost simplicity. I may stumble, and I may collapse, yet I have never failed to muster the strength to bring myself back to my feet. On this journey, nothing can be certain. We enter this life with no instructions, we were not born into this world with a pamphlet in hand, nor engrossed with fine black print. In this sense, we must create our own standards and expectations for ourselves as individuals. We are all distinguished beings with contrasting abilities and disabilities, thus we are required to clear our own paths on our journey through life. Me? I walk in circles, endlessly cycling through the stages of life and death. I have been reborn an infinite amount of times, and faced death to an equal extent. We are spiritually reborn through the experiences we encounter each day on our voyage through time. We are reincarnated through our struggles, for we must be resurrected many times in order to survive the untimely circumstances of our spiritual deaths. What lies at the end of this seemingly endless road is nothing but the discovery of our true selves. Only when we make this discovery does the haze clear and the light appear, and only than will we be free of the cycle of renewal and degeneration.

"I find it so hard to sleep without you by my side..."

"Some memories... are just too perfect to put in the past."

My Collage- The Good in Us All

[made with microsoft word 2010]

Conformity

Conformity is the downfall of individualism. The spread of conformity prevents the flow of new ideas and opinions from shaping or altering our culture. Rather than offering personal opinions or insight to the world, we repress our thoughts in order to meet the standards of the social norm. The presence of conformists in our society obstruct the passageways that disperse suppressed knowledge through every community. In order for culture to flourish, there is a need for a constant flow of new ideas throughout the people, therefore to preserve the sanctity of human development, we must filter out conformity from the vessels of society. Remember, prosperity is not possible without change.

Sweet Sorrow

Even as I recline under the setting Florida sun, enjoying the virtues of life in its utter simplicity, I am stricken with a sense of emptiness. No matter how far I run from the past, I cannot escape the memories that plague me, even on my brightest days. To this day, I am enveloped by my bitter grievances over what could have been. What would have been. What should have been.  Distant winds of yesterday blow over me, chilling me with recollections left unforgotten. It has become apparent to me; No matter the circumstances, I shall forever remain miserable at best.

Friendly Neighbors

It is said that in every bunch there is a bad apple. I would have to disagree. Metaphorically, there really are no good apples in the first place. We all sin, we all lie, we all know it. Comparing people to such sweet and innocent things as apples is unreasonable. Man kind is a selfish race, for human nature makes it so. Despite the many flaws of human nature, some of us manage to repress our selfish and sinful urges, and reflect only our presentable qualities. Those of us who do so are still not able to accurately be compared to good apples, for we still have sinful temptations. We may appear bright, red, and refreshing on the outside, but if one were to bite into our core, they would encounter our worms. For this reason, there are no good apples in the bunch at all, but amongst the rotting fruit of our kind, there are a blessed few of us with only a bruise or two.

RIP Kurt (1967-1994)

“No matter how dark the night, somehow the sun rises once again and all shadows are chased away”

Defeat

There's always going to be someone trying to break you down. With motives feuled by jealousy, self-indulgence, and greed, it may seem impossible to overcome the struggles you face as a result of someone's actions. These people will stop at nothing to see you fail, and once you succumb to failure they are hungry for more. They will continue to suck every last drop of energy from your body untill there is none left, and even then will they continue to deplete you of what is no longer there. People like this thrive off of your suffering, and there is nothing you can do to change that. These creatures cannot be considered human, for they do not live off of food or water, but they use pain to feul their souls (or lack thereof). You are put in a corner with no way out, your only options are to fight, or give in to your opponent. Because such people usually maintain a high level of athourity, intimidation becomes a factor opposing perserverence. Remember, people cannont harm you with intimidation, only you yourself can allow it to effect you. Look deep inside your enemy, look through their power, evil, coercion, and see what lies behind it all. What is left is a miserable child full of fear and diffidence, and all of a sudden they're not so difficult to overpower.

Time

As years pass, people change. We change. We grow into unfamiliar strangers with lost identities trying to find our own little corner of the universe. Our own little niche. Our personalities become entities of their own, taking the form of obstacles that shaped us over our years of growth. When we emerge from our old molten pupa as new beings, we don't always like who we turned out to be. We cannot turn back time and stop ourselves from becoming who we are, but we can clear a new path for us to walk down and improve who we grow into in the future. We are always changing, we have no limitations and endless opportunities, but every one we miss, is one we can never get back.

Politically Incorrect

The concept of being politically correct is offensive in itself. It is a complete contradiction of it's intended purpose. By being politically correct, you are assuming that what is offensive to one member of a particular race is offensive to the race as a whole. In doing so, you strip one of his or her individuality by acting as if all components of that group of people share the same views and emotions. We are all entitled to our rights as individuals, rights that are violated by postulating that the feelings of one human correspond with that of an entire race. We do not think as a unit, we do not feel as a unit, we do not act as a unit, and we will not be labeled as a unit, but as the unique individuals we all are.

Questioning Society

We are brought into this world pure, and innocent. We are raised into adulthood, programmed to believe what we are told. All of our live's we have never actually thought for ourselves, but rather been told what to feel, what to believe, by those who raised us. How many of us have actually questioned what we're told and simply asked, "Do I believe this is right"? We believe every bit of information society feeds us without any knowledge on the subject whatsoever.  We were not brought onto this earth to behave as mindless sheep. I refuse to be told what is wrong and right any longer. I'm going to fight for what I believe in, and I dare you to try and stop me.