to try and smile when they're gunning me down and
I won't tell you until I'm full of empty shells that
the world wasn't built on land but on
a lack of better term for human desire for satisfaction that does not exist.
To be optimistic when one's soul is a realist but
it doesn't matter how many petals you count because
the last draw will always end with a dead end that
takes you to a new beginning where at first you feel..
this is it. And I'm going to make this my
home.. If not for the eyes that prey on your identity while perched on
trees that take root on ground made of greed and
Is happiness a paradoxical conspiracy that finds salvation in the dreaming minds of those awake. Or perhaps just
something I have only caressed but never tasted to
Is suffering that which is beyond the first dream that
we all awaken to after sleeping that first sleep when
we break free of Innocence.
Or are my words not but images that you have unconsciously crafted as a way to assure yourself that you are not
alone. Or me.
To be out of mind when I am but sane and not blankly
staring at the beautifully painted walls. Unfortunately
all I see is white.
I must've missed the bloodstain..