Sometimes you can just feel the breaking… It always starts as the smallest crack… And soon it will shatter..

Im tired of every feel being built up into its slow burn, from this slow crawl… From the fools fancy, I carry too much insophistication poised by painter words, only dribbled with black and matted rot beneath that fresh coat of paint overlaying its identity.

The mind has a tough time facing reality. Everyone in this world is full of lies.. full of sorrows.. full of hopes that keep them distracted from beating ugly truths..

There is no good way to embrace the crack once it’s formed… it will take its form, much like a river, spreading and touching with its diseased path, shattering the good that was built over the graves you once tried to forget…

Something soft after too long can no longer be felt the same way.. The hard things of life will come again, and grin with their teeth, sharp and pointed fangs… And then you will know, oh drinkers of hope, that the poison lied not within any wine.. But the simple distractions, that had your undoings, go for so long unnoticed, the very same, that planned your own demise…