To this day I know not why I don't take my own advice.
It's as if I thrive on the turmoil and rainy day parade I create.
There is no cure for hopeless optimism in Love;
Only the realization that some things are meant to be eternal
In a different way. In a dreamland.

So instead of being the one to be heartbroken,
I have chosen to be the one who tears down another's world.
I shatter the dreams I long for. I am the one that gets the final say.
It's a different kind of high-to finally become the pedestal from which I knew I should have been on the entire time.

I can't say the view from where I stand in my mind is clear, or better.
I can't win in the game of Love. But in the game of War, I am cruel at heart. Cruel in a way that is honest, in fact, not cruel at all. I wonder some days if the passive voice inside my head is actually my sense of worth, escaping the quicksand that it's been under for far, far, too long.