Optimistic Future.

Between the sheets lies the truth.

Everything comes out of nothing.

You work you way up to the top, only to fall back down.

Hours spent working to buy nice things.

Nights spent alone.

It's a vicious cycle, society.

Never satisfied.

Never content with what is real; always needing more.

Non-existent is bliss.

People: they try to see through rose coloured rings.

But optimism doesn't change the outcome;

just the view in what you're going to see.

Honesty.

It's an elastic band, loosely bound between false words.

With every lie, the snap back travels just as fast as it came.

It's almost as if it were a competition.

Seemingly so, you've won.

You've managed to convince yourself of happiness.

You've become something out of nothing.

Built your dreams with broken pieces, and lied to everyone you've known.

Honesty, what an unnecessary use of time.

Who is honest in life?

You can't get any where being truthful.

You must cheat, scandalize your way out.

You grow up with the changing definition of honesty.

"Don't lie", they all say.

"Don't steal", they warn.

But the truth lies within the infamous white lie.

It's acceptable, even encouraged, to lie to make everything okay.

I find myself asking, what's the point?

When the truth is nothing is ever okay, so why lie?

Why waste time, an unknown variable, to make-believe?

Honesty, is different to everyone.

Honesty, to me, is honestly a lie.

Nothing and Nowhere is Golden.

The sheets are stained.

You've shot them through the middle.

The seam in which we lay, has now frayed parallel.

Spilt in two, my side, and yours.

Something so whole, with the vivant that radiated through curtains, is now a little piece of sky.

You gave him everything.

It was beautiful.

Nothing hurt.

Ultra violent radiation could show the marks you left in the mangled sheets.

He doesn't need lights to show the marks you've left on me.

Lying here alone, in the spot you once were.

Whom here believes in forever when nothing and nowhere is golden?

Life is not a rehersal, and he's not your audience.

Unsure, unsettling, and unaware about everything.
You're nervous for something.
For anything.
The walls start to enclose on you.
Shortness of breath.
Panic.
"I can just pretend I'm somebody else." You say.
It's the simple solution to everything.
It's the only thing you've ever known.
How to pretend.
"Don't act, just be yourself."
His words stab you right in your soul.
They bleed you out like yarn on a spindle.
Epiphany.
The sudden realization of your non-existence becomes prevalent.
You haven't the faintest idea of whom you are, nor who you should be.
"Be yourself"?
Who am I really?

It's the one question, they all ask.

"What do you want most?"

The small voice within asks.

It's rhetorical.

"What do you want?"

You comply.

Passive,

you're always passive.

You know what you want.

Damn well you know what you want.

The waves crash on the sand.

You're hungry for something,

something more than he is giving you.

You want out.

You want to be free.

To see everything.

To feel a strange lovers hands running up and down your body.

To feel the smoke inhaled through your lungs.

You just want to breath.

To live.

"You're alive" he says.

But are you living, is the question.

Snowfall.

Our minds alterations, seeming more and more real.

Holding more truth.

You felt the snowflakes run cold down your face.

You felt him.

Enter.

He exits.

The snowflakes melt together, as holy as one.

Content.

Bliss.

You ponder in the world of the unknown,

in the depths of the lonesome pool.

Shock electrifies through your body.

The cold is spreading throughout.

Just like the disease of the lonely.

It's without a doubt,

the facts.

You're disposable to him.

A piece of furniture;

just a piece of sky to you.

The facts bleed together as the snow falls.

No longer can innocent flakes fall upon the base of your stomach.

For they have been tainted,

just as his love.

Beach Baby-Bon Iver.

When you're out, tell your lucky one to know that you'll leave.
But don't lock when your fleeing.
I'd like not to hear keys.

Only hold till your coffee warms,
but don't hurry and speed.

once a time put a tongue in your ear at the beach,
and you clutched.
Clicking heels.

One of the most beautiful songs I have encountered. For the past couple days, I have been contemplating the meaning behind such masterpiece. For what seemed days, nothing appeared, and then it hit. I think this song is all about the facts. Accepting the fact that the end of this relationship, was for the better. How it winded out like a spinning needle and thread. The whole "but don't lock when your fleeing, I'd like not to hear keys" is him not wanting her to stay any longer than necessary he'd rather her memory disappear whilst she flees, not to be constantly reminded of such relationship.
Beautiful, and haunting, really.