You thought it was alright. You thought it was OK. Things were looking up, lighting up, and going up. But, how does it feel to have it all just go away? Lights being dimmed, doors being closed and locked tight, the windows shattered right the fuck in. The clouds just blanket over your sunny parade, and they're all there to remind you that you're worthless. That you're the laughing stock of the town and the village fool. People don't know whether or not to point and stare or run and hide. Sitting in your living rooms, tuning in to fluorescent screens of lies. You go to bed at night with dried up pain all over your face, cradling the remnants of your poached childhood in your scattered mind. You'll never forget but you seem to always forgive. These people will never know what it's like, but you'll always know. You'll run down that empty hallway of passionless emotion, your footsteps syncing up with the beat of your favorite bird. Who knew that life was the concoction and bastard child of cigarette smoke and rude imagination, and that death was a blind judge in an apathetic courtroom. You lived only to indulge in violent pleasures and cheap thrills, only to wake up the next morning and remember you are absolutely nothing special. This is isn't for him. This isn't for her. This isn't for me. This isn't for you.