Our lives are stories
Their hundreds of pages painted with words
Their simply books filled with a millennia of chapters

Chapters...
That word almost sounds foreign to me
Well at least I want it too

People tell me my story has just begun
But I want it to be the end
They say it's only the first chapter
If that's the case I want it to be the only chapter
And I want this chapter to shorten
It's simply too long

Everything is sad
if you want it to be.
Life is sad.
Living is sad.
Feeling is sad.
Hearing,
hoping,
all that you seek.
Deep down you know
is already dead.
People are sad.
Our fate is sad.
But it is not set.
It's only true
if you believe in that.

My hands are shaking,
The smile is no longer faking,
Sweaty after a realization of my dark lungs,
No longer caving to drown the the butterfly chained to a ball and chain in my gut,
I put down the bottle and pick up my sneaks,
Perspiration leaks,
As I wheeze,
The butterfly is set free,
And I feel like for the first time i can taste the breeze,
Shakey knees,
And a new song to sing,
Grabbing the new beat,
So I take off my shoes,
Step inside the fresh door,
Starting again with a smirking core,
With my hands that won't stop shaking,
And a smile I'm no longer faking.