...blame the dreamer, the make-believer, the great play-pretender. blame the girl that picks up every drop of hope off the floor with tweezers. we all want to believe. even if its obvious how dangerous it could be, even when it has dagger-like thorns, and they stab your fingers. we want want want something still even though you will bleed. blame the ambitious one. blame that ******* time that always haunts us. blame the one that tries to defy it. blame loneliness, blame that empty space, that shadow that lingered for so long. blame the encouragement of self-sacrifice. blame basic human instinct, to see, to chase, to conquer. blame the amygdala. but what would it be like, without emotion, memory..it wouldn't hurt to forget to remember. blame energy. blame everything you've ever tried to believe in, wanted with every ounce of passion you had left. blame money, we're all just slaves. blame the unknown course of human life. blame the unpredictability of the circumstances in which you take your last breaths. wherever you would be, would the last scene in your play be a happy one or a tragic ending..or somewhere in between? blame analyzation and rationalized thinking, the fact that things could make perfect sense but your gut tells you differently. blame fear and anxiety, blame what scares you the most in this world. heights, change, being alone. blame the girl that always sees light but is ready for the dark, she is waiting by her windows. shes prepared for the part in the end where the actors bow and you realize, oh, yeah, ****...this was all just imagined.

blame me. the director. the optimist. blame me, because i picked the thorned rose.

but it was just so, tempting, so extremely beautiful...

......i just take life as it comes.