Am I a fool to believe that this is real? What's real nowadays? Is a world where freedom isn't free, real? More like a figment of imagination, a dream where we lie awake but our eyes closed.

Life is about finding what's real, the real you. Either you end up in love of your metamorphosis or anticipate your reaping. Besides, who really wants to sit back and watch the prodding at your tender soul. Aren't we meant to be torn down and then rebuilt, isn't that evolution?

The rules of the heart, the codes we willingly give away. We carve a passage through the wall, to let you in. Instead you find out the only thing gained were your secrets not your sincerity. We hope to find treasure but in reality there is just an empty vault, and your golden heart stolen.

An internal labyrinth that lays pieces of a puzzle in your way. Pieces that fit but don't fit. Pondering if taking a chance is worth it. Tell me what is real, because emotions can be imaginative.

Your golden heart, the one thing that you keep in the deepest corner, that was locked up in its chamber, each link encasing it tighter and tighter, was shattered. Footsteps along the way, glass layering the floor, marking she was here. You gaze upon the blood stains and see her silhouette in the dim light.