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...