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-Best International Band—Pierce The Veil!
-Best Video—King For A Day!
-Best Single—King For A Day!
-Best International Newcomer—Pierce The Veil!
Pierce The Veil deserves each and every one of these categories to be won because it’s another way to show our great appreciation as fans that we admire them, and thank them for saving us from the agonizing reality of pain during our everyday lives, to help thank them for every time they made us feel like we were invincible! They already know we love them through the appreciation many of us show everyday! But this is another amazing way to show it! You can vote as much as you want! Voting ends June 6th! And awards will be given out on June 13th! :D PLEASE GO AND VOTE NOW!
#Pierce The Veil #PTV #Kerrang! Awards #Fearless Records #King For A Day #Number One Fan!
PLEASE! OH PLEASE GUYS! GO ON http://awards.kerrang.com/ AND VOTE FOR PTV/KING FOR A DAY VIDEO IN THESE CATEGORIES!
Chaos has struck down, cold and hard. My grounds are shaking, and I can hardly even get the balance to just crawl away. My weaknesses are shimmering all over my body instead of hiding away. Confusion has taken its place, vastly all over me. My heart no longer beating, pounding, nothing at all. It all stops.
Now, as I awaken from this nightmare I can’t collect myself together, I’m everywhere I want to be, just not how I wish to be seen. Instead of getting up and going on my knees to pick up the shattered memories of what’s now behind me, some craved to be relived, while others I’m glad to see broken. I sit there, so still, so dead.
Tears begin to roll off, racing down my cheeks, hoping to be caught, but soon will fall to their own chaos. A splash, while more follow unknowingly and stupidly. I fall apart, it seems that’s all I’ve been doing. One minute I find myself hopeful, and full of this happiness that I can create on my own like a scientist in a lab. Flourished with euphoria, then those broken, crooked hands below me grab me and hold me down. Forcing ache down into me, and as I scream for what seem like hours, but are only seconds, drown away. Then, I am left with nothing except with what I am now.
I don’t move, nor do I make a sound. I’m hardly breathing at all because now it seems that’s the hardest thing to do.
No, this is not what he’s left behind for me to experience, he wouldn’t want this for me. I wouldn’t want this for him, what I want for him is what he has now. Well, he has all I have ever wanted for him, except me. I’m no where in that image I want to paint into my brain. I’ve been cut and pasted onto a folder filled with old heartache he no longer wants. When will I be taken into consideration though?
The longer I’m left here to ponder, the longer the guilt of negativity dwells in me. He isn’t supposed to know, he isn’t supposed to see with that wall I’ve built. The kingdom we’ve created is crumbling down, and all the colors of his chambered heart have ceased to be seen by my eyes. I’m cut off, and no longer am of importance. My self value isn’t low, nor high, nor somewhere in between. It doesn’t exist, I choose not to put myself up as an offer. No biddings. I just want him.
Days are going by abruptly, and I’m growing nervous. It’s a cruel punishment, the one whirling inside me, manifesting itself with all the negativity, will it grow stronger? Will it unleash itself from what I have it tied down to? Will I lose my best friend? The next coming weekend holds many answers to these questions, just as it will questions for the future. Can I do this? Can I be the one to leave, if all fails for me?
I don’t want to leave myself pondering. I must get up and fix this, but how? What can I do in order to feel that satisfaction? I’m going real sick, and the agony won’t stop trying to force itself out of my throat. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Sometimes life doesn’t hand you lemons, and even when it does you don’t go outside and make a lemonade stand, and sell a cup of frozen water, shaped into cubes or wedges that are drowned by a tangy but sweet liquid. A liquid that never seems to quench our thirst, but make us want more. Maybe that metaphor means more than just dealing with what you’ve got and making it into something more. Maybe it means that we are too selfish, and can’t get enough of one thing, so we keep begging for more; and we never run out because we put others through hell and labor to produce more of those lemons, the ones that have that perfect amount of zang, and tang with a little bit of that eye-twitching sour.
We expect too much, and because of that we receive less than a satisfactory amount of what we desire. In the end, no one is saved, or helped.
Riding home, sitting in the passenger seat was never comforting. It wasn’t just her, it was also that car! It reeked of wine, and beer. She never wanted to turn that A/C on so the smell would get stronger, and stronger until finally I’d get tired of holding my breath in and just lower the window.
She never knew how to properly be on the phone and drive at the same time, and it was no wonder why it was illegal to do so, she was part of that statistic that stated women were terrible drivers. I loathe how every bad thing I know is simply compared to her, I would rather just no have her in my mind at all to be honest.
Once getting out of that wretched car, I’d run to my room, plop my stuff on the bed and call Andy back. We’d talk for hours at times, and it was always lovely! He opened up this world to me, a world he didn’t just open up for anyone and it was beautiful! It was as if he grabbed my soul, cupped it together with his hands and put me inside his heart. I was inside the most peaceful cave I’d ever seen, the four chambers of his heart were decorated with vivid bright colors, and tiny cute creatures dancing along to the beat of his heart. As I climbed about and around, understanding the surroundings of this underestimated palace, I stayed inside, blocking and killing anyone, or anything that tried to destroy this little place inside he called home. I’d give anything to visit it again someday.
She was hardly ever home, it was everything I wanted, but not what Alex, needed. Alex is my youngest brother, and is only partially related to me by my mother’s side. I look at him as a mirrored image of me, he’s become my son.
She started showing up earlier after school to pick me up in such a hustle, and drop of Alex and I home, and for days we’d be left there. Some mornings she still wasn’t home, I would call my aunt and ask her for rides to school since I was registered on the bus. I felt the embarrassment for my mother, I felt as though her actions reflected upon me, and for once I felt like a mother does when a daughter does something so absurd you just can’t help but become one with the silence.
It was 20 Questionson the way to school when it came to being dropped off by my aunt, in fact that game seemed to show up unexpectedly, and especially uninvited around any family member. “Where is your mom?” “When will she be back?” “Did she tell you where she went?” “So, she never called at all? Are you sure?” Those questions were rehearsed and memorized from how many times a day I was asked literally every single one of those questions, and more perhaps! It’s slowly begun to fade, but I still know the proper and correct answers for them.
I’m now living in an untouched world, I’m bombarded, and there are tunnels out into a hot spring, where people like me can relax and not worry about anything in the world! There aren’t rainbows, and unicorns. Hopefully dinosaurs though, it’s a vast world, and I have yet to see more of it. I just don’t want to experience this alone anymore, but I don’t want to experience it with just anyone either. I’m afraid, utterly I am. I keep putting up this rough exterior and refuse to even let those, like Carla out; only because I don’t want to see them worry. They need me there for them, strong, not weak, not like this. I can do this, I just need that extra push, I need my motivation. Where is this life leading me to? Where am I going now? Who am I, and what have I become?
The small recognitions of my childhood are sunkist, almost like the sensation of crisp, light drizzles of mist touching your skin as gently as possible during a melting summer in Texas. The memories made with my friends are exactly the same, some nights I just block everything out, put my playlist on full blast, not caring if the echos of “ohs” and “yeahs” stabs my ears, or the strums of cords, the bangs on the drums, and that bass, that bass just yawning in my ears; all together making that melody of streaming memories, they’re the notes being played, and very well they are indeed. Often I can’t help but have tears slowly roll down my cheeks, they avoid hurting me further, because they know I’ve had enough for the day.
I have never once though of going back, because I know why I made this decision. I understand very well that I am better off here, but it’s difficult living in a world in which you’re not welcome, where people act like they know your story, like they know you completely. My best of friends knew me, but even they could admit they never knew me completely.
Everyone is in some way alone, and always will be. Alone in the sense that some things no one can compel to understand, feelings that we can continue to write from when we know how to express ourselves till the day we pass, and still no one would understand, at least not completely. Sometimes we don’t even know ourselves, I don’t know myself at all, but I can at least imagine what I’m like in someone else’s eyes. One day, i’ll reflect on these nights, the one’s I wasted on tearing up over memories, memories parents tell us mean nothing, when they clearly know nothing of what’s going on. We can never expect them to know, because they will always, no matter what age you are, think you are ignorant.
After having walked Carla to her classes I always tried to keep my best of focus, that was until seventh period. We had English II Pre-Ap together, and never did our work, but somehow always passed through the knowledge of common sense. Amazing! Is it not? The one way of passing any class, besides math, history, and occasionally science. I remember always making it to that class before she, I’d sit there with any expression on my face that my moods so easily controlled whenever I knew I’d be expecting her. So easily, she knew every time. I could be wearing a smile, and somehow she would know if it were a true feeling or not, I could lie and tell her I’m okay, and she would so easily tell me, “No”.
But by God were those days in seventh period with her a blast regardless of my mood, I don’t understand how I’m making it without her to be honest. No, I’m wrong, I’m not making it without her, I’m simply surviving, feeding off the memories I’ve got, and will keep doing so until I see her, and the cycle will continue.
The worst part about being here I think is not being able to continuously express myself by doing the things I wanted. Walking in halls yelling at the top of my lungs with my friends, dancing stupidly alone and laughing at myself. Here, I could do the same thing, but no one to enjoy the simplicity of it, I can’t enjoy youth it seems. Which is clearly ironic due to the fact I moved to get away from an uptight space to only move to an even tighter one per say?
The drag of the evening swept in along with the harsh winds that blew in nothing but dirt, and pebbles, no hope whatsoever found within the naked eye. My mom at times arrived hours late, or too soon, and many times forgot about me. At first those days became a drag, sitting by the fountain waiting impatiently and talking on the phone with Andy, while I waited for her to arrive, or at least anyone just to take me back home. The best parts of those evenings was listening to his voice, and how easily I could have someone hypnotize me into this numb sensation. Any reality that hurt, or harsh coldness of rejection from my mother, he took it away. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could hear that bittersweet voice guide me back to the sanctuary I built within the walls him and I created in our kingdom of solitude. because I couldn’t bear to lose another safe place again. I just can’t seem to find it alone, I’m the lighter fluid, and he’s the wick of a strawberries & cream scented candle ready to ignite, and guide me to a magnificent journey. My dreams.
=Still more to come=
Days like these grew weary, tiring, almost sickening. What kept me going wasn’t the stench of summer creeping under the cracks of broken homes. It was her, them, my friends, the buzzing of my alarm was more of a life sentence than death itself but also a sound of knowing that maybe, just maybe today could be different than the rest. The moment I’d get out of bed seemed to be varied everyday, I would stay laying down under the overbearing sheets longer than usual, wishing, wanting the time to slow down, or freeze while I beg my brain to not let me fall asleep.
Eventually, I’d be up and about, straightening my hair, brushing my teeth, or putting my beanie on and a casual hoodie, even though Texas wasn’t at its best for wearing a less than one inch fabric covering your torso completely. Going back remembering the worst part of these mornings wasn’t knowing the fact I’d be heading to a place where education is giving to me for free, where under estimated students roamed the halls, who studied your every move, your attire, everything. No, it was dealing with my mom, knowing that she’d been unemployed for almost a year now was just unnecessary. She’s forty-one years old now, and shouldn’t be searching for a job, but should have a career. Instead she was laying on her bed, one leg hanging off the bed, mouth wide open, and rather than having the beauty of sleep, she had the ugly part of it. The smell of wine instantly gave me slap in the face, catching me off guard and finding its way into my nostrils and pinching my brain with it’s strong stench. Closing my eyes, and shaking my head to relieve myself, I look back up. Taking lousy steps inside her chamber, what her serenity is, I choose not to acknowledge it, mostly because it’s not would should be envisioned.
Growing up, watching those Disney movies, seeing those children wake up still in daze from their dreams of the perfection they already have show on their faces while they run to Mommy and Daddy in their room barely waking up as well. Their room would always be an olive, or cream color, family photos of cherished memories and black-and-white photos placed on their nightstands of when they first began dating; the bed sheets would have some sort of modern design, or solid color, pillows placed on that bench upfront, along with unneeded over-sized blankets, that are only placed on their bed for decoration.The kids jump on their bed, lay in between them, and beg them for their favorites for breakfast. Both parents smiling proud, knowing that they could just go to a McDonald’sand pick up meals instead, get up and get to cooking.
That’s what I wanted to envision, to maybe not see my father beside her knowing that they are both just at best apart, but still would love to see her there in beauty, laying calm, and peaceful, or wide awake and ready to drive me to school. Instead though, I was entering an unknown territory I seemed to step into everyday, dark, uneasy, and an unbearable smell to compliment it. It took some very hard shakes to wake her up, along with me yelling her name practically right in her ears. I could be dying and me yelling at the top of my lungs still wouldn’t wake her. She’s plastered from the alcohol, and isn’t even dreaming. The brain somehow refuses to offer dreams to those who torture it from the night before. Is it wrong to say that sometimes I wish she wouldn’t wake up to my voice? Or to anything at all? That maybe…just maybe, she would just be asleep forever?
It took about fifteen minutes to arrive to school, when it should only take six, but the liquor still wasn’t out of her. I’d do a slight prayer in my head while on my way to school everyday, even though the thought of God was still blurry to me. Hoping he was real enough to save me, and give her more strength rather than me, because I already knew I could live through this. I just mostly needed her to help. At times there were arguments on the way, which made me more scared that she wouldn’t pay attention to the road especially while her eyes were piercing right at me, I would feel my skin burn at her sight, and turn my face out the window, and just wait till I’d arrive to school just so I could smile, and see friendly faces for a whole eight hours straight, and feel the stress of something that I deserved to stress over, like homework, college, exams, boyfriends, anything except the reality that I lived for my mother. Anything at all.
Finally, getting out the car was like watching waves crash against the sand, natural. My head would always be down, looking at my feet, seeing one get ahead of the other, not paying attention to the movements I’ve known since I was at least nine months old. I felt different people stare at me everyday, different cliques, just looking at me as if I was a ‘know-it-all’, it made me grow more embarrassed. It was a catwalk from the car to the door everyday. Once entering the building I would usually pick up my head to search along the corners of the school for my friends, the first group was always Janelle, both Clarissa’s, Rene, and Oscar. I’d say my bag of welcomings and hugs, then go off into the cafeteria to find Carla, basically my lungs were with her, she made it easy to breathe, she knew how to help me breathe come to think of it. We’d enjoy our breakfast time-to-time, talk about anything and everything, then head off into the predictable, but still unknown eight hours of nine class periods.
=Still more to come guys=
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Overly Attached Girlfriend Meme
oh the annoyance of this.
we all have that on friend..