  lost i'm writing from the summit of the throne i have created. far from prying hands and even kindness solely motivated by my grief.
the cliches and angst ridden slogans follow me as i open my heart to the alter i cut myself so deep that my blood simply freezes in a continum of everlasting parody. i walk throughout the forest passing by never ending vacant cabins. i approach the long-standing fork in the road, ready to stab deep into my lungs and remove my one last "i can try.
" none of this means anything, but all at once is the only thing that exists in this box of deadly potions with the labels all rearranged. the disciples of this false pretending absorb without feeling the accepted truths, far too weak to question the derivation of these fallacies. if years from today this is somehow found, what if every word is mistaken for the lost love of teenage days that never came to surface? they will be. 
