With a broken heart, a decaying body, a self-destructive mind, and a broken pen, my heart is poured onto ripped paper that retraces dead memories. Every step is another crack in the glass until we reach the end.
We can blame these faults on our problems, for they pushed us to the edge. Or we can blame this disaster on time, it makes it as easy to fall from love as it is to fall into its depths.
Pain demands to be felt until you go numb. And even then, its shadow stalks you close behind, in the dark alleys of your mind where there is only your abandoned fun.
Tattered dreams, meaningless words, and wilted rose petals spilled like bitter, red wine laced with arsenic across the creaking floorboards. Walls start to speak the exact words that you would rather not fathom or even wish to ponder. But, my dear, you must realize that this labyrinth is but a maze of suffering and disappointment that we all endure and its camouflage is the word known as “life”. And that word is the one in which we all try so hardly to make the best of because we adore the thought of a chance to make something of ourselves, but in it hides our fears of the world after and the unknown. And in these fears, and in our suffering, that is when and where we find our strengths.