The current feeling of falling into the the dark hole that once held my mind rattles through empty streets and allies of the paper mache buildings I have built that once housed the things I called my own. And now it rains anger sprayed in no particular direction melting those cities into the sad remains of a third grade project I faintly recall doing. Teenage angst at its finest until you find yourself all alone and come to the realization that all we have is our meted paper mache cities full of things we have killed, and killing things doesn't make them go away; it makes them dead.
Now those too crumpled and tossed in the corner dark blurs unable to read next to the glitter coated childhood dreams. Life gets real, and so do we. Turn grey and crumble just like the long abandoned cities. And so I'll break my toes as I grow sad and I get clumsy yet you're still too young to understand, how I am too desperate to be seen. So fall like fools for gold, that are now painted black like the cracks in a youthful heart just before it breaks. And it makes me want to be a part of that but like the seasons inevitably we have changed, into a swallowing darkness that plays hide and go seek in our minds it's only a matter of time before you find it, and then it's your turn, run and hide don't let it find you. All games are won or lost and I surly have lost mine, is this what it means to grow up.
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