Sentimental lies and suicidal dolls, the value of everything has the consistency of desire, aspirations too discontented that the slightest idea of having any space to begin with is far from the standard. Woken up indefinite hiatus. The glimmer is absolutely gone and to be quite honest waking up dead feels just as comforting as lying next to the very few who've lost you. Narcissism is beautiful when the body is not. Critisim only pushes one towards death, and six feet deep underneath puts me one step closer to hell. Stop mixing truth with lies because life, life isn't butterflies unless they're stabbed straight through. You tell me, I need to go a day longer, the only thing that I long for is the tragic misfortune of demise, but in your eyes I'm considered a fake. These words may be new but these thoughts never change. The epitome of rage has nothing against what I can be capable of. Silver. The stain that started it all. Red. The gash that kept going. Violet. Everything that was left over. Black. What happens when vision fades. Blue. The one that tore you apart. I tried being average, left my life on idle. Don't call me crazy, I've been colored suicidal