Twisting and turning and tumbling upside-down, I am tired of having to deal such unimportant things. I can do it, I know I can, so don't tell me I can't, don't tell me I'll never get that far. I've always wanted to tell you that I loved you, that I loved you more than I could ever imagine. But love is a choice, and I choose not to love, not to believe in love. Simply put, it does not exist, life does not exist. Life is a lie and lies are life, to find a life without a lie is to find heaven, to find perfection. A perfection which does not exist, mind you, but you can keep trying for it, anyway.

To bare my heart and soul and mind and everythings to you is to confess righteously all I have done, and revealing my innermost secrets is to willingly accept a consequence that I cannot face. I am tieing a string around a black balloon to take me away, so that I can fly up high to see the world, to see all that is around me. The black balloon of my lies and sins and guilts and terribleness, the black balloon that is going to free my heart and soul and mind. It will fly, and I will fly. And when it begins to die, slowly, slowly, I will die with it, piece by piece. It is life. No, it is a lie. It is the lie of life.

Mindless actions of expression and faded smiles, a heart that beats fainter than the cars on a desserted country road. Outside, inside, everywhere, it is disappearing and gone, I am lost and I sit here alone. You are a yesterday man and I have already forgotten, I have moved on past the emotionless person I once knew. And when the old is out the new comes in, a new that I am not ready to handle, not ready to confront. I laugh and play along and continually question myself with answers that are nowhere to be found, but I cannot stop, it is not me. Who am I? What do I constitute? Nothingness. Yet I go along, with the false hopes and the promises that will never be fulfilled, because life is life, because I am a lie.

Ps. I am right, always right.
Pps. Stubborness can only get you so far, I know.