the dying embers of repressed ambition: I forsake. this crying
performance of morality: I leave behind. god may forgive you, but I never
will. et in arcadia ego.. ..we never really had a chance to build this house, even
when we tried so hard. stone by stone, piece by piece, I've built it in my head.
I think I started living there, while what we really had, was turning into dust..
it was full of stairs and mirrors and reflections, like a castle of wishes adorned
with deception.. no one has ever came to my door, but I think I thought I saw
you try.. "you must find this place in your heart for the one you love the most"
- that is myself. "why do you say that, you never went this road before" - you
made me observe.. each word, each cut, open wound. I stitch them up, but my
scars, will do a lifetime with me.. I loathe the faith I had. I despise this hope
forlorn. through the ashes of intention, life is a one man show.. I came to the
point, where happiness is what is left of the willing. I throw a match behind
my back. this house took years to built and a moment to burn.
