As the blood seeps through my lungs,
my whole world shatters into a million pieces.
On my hands and knees I crawl
through broken-glass mirrors in my eyes,
where dreams once used to lie.
This is a disease that I cannot control.
It infiltrates every cell
and every part of my being.
Sweat and tears and blood
have all been meaningless;
the antidote has been found,
but the cure remains fatal.
If happiness is a warm gun,
then put that barrel to my chest,
pull the trigger,
and let me feel the blood run down my back,
into my lungs.
Give me the chance
(Show me something real)
To stop this pain
(Give me something I can touch)
Use it to my advantage.
Nihilism once killed a dream
and sparked a flame which never died,
that grew and birthed into something terrible
that destroyed the world inside his mind.
He never knew what had murdered his hope,
and why through his eyes, he saw only black.
Blood seeped from his eyes,
and he swallowed all his tears.
And the boy was sad...