Confidence does not always guarantee a safe passage to anywhere. Your nerves will find a way to break you down, push you further to the hole you dug on to, and bury you along with all your pathetic tears. There's no other nicer ways of putting it, truth be told, and before the clock strikes past quarter to ten, everything begins to illuminate themselves, then you see what it is that truly excites you: rage.
Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.