This. Is. Life.

Sorrow has a way of sinking in. No one said it would be this easy for a soul to crinkle like paper, and no amount of heat can remove the lines. My conscience has created calluses, pain fossilized by years of rebellion against myself. I've been caught in the grip of my spiderweb-intentions, and remorse has sucked me dry. So, I'm gonna paint the day real, real pretty and hope that it eclipses the past. At least I have the night to look forward to, because the darkness covers my steps, if only for a little while. And justice licks my heels like a starving dog, and I chew dread like cud when it does. But this is life. This is why I fear the walls that men can't climb. Because I know, one day, the earth will leave me too dizzy to run. I just hope the sky is clear when I look up from the fall.