The sunlight finds a crevice in the blinds to peak through and nudge me as in lay asleep. I am awakened by the gentle touch of warmth resting upon my left eye and cheek. With my eyes still shut, the chirping of the birds is projected in a much more distinct sound. I can feel everything, it is all heightened. Nature rises from its slumber and begins the day's work. Soon enough the sun hits it's peak and I can no longer hide away in my bed, avoiding life. It is time to face the world head on, and show it some kindness. I hear there is such thing as good karma. It's not that I hate life, I just don't show it enough love. And I may tend to despise every person walking over others to climb the social ladder, but I do not neglect the beauty of Earth and it's reflections on a minority of the population. Sometimes, I feel as if nature is the only sense of sanity left in the world which has mutated into a world of insanity and anarchy. The clouds are hovering over my favorite dogwood tree just down below, at my favorite park. I try my best to not let the tight constrictions of my thoughts encumber me in my goal of appreciating all of life's offerings. Once I pass through another fleeting day, the sun disperses underneath the mountains before I get a chance to wave it goodbye. As the luminous moon introduces itself to the stars floating around in the sky, I fall into bed beside a man who shows me no affection. I drift off into a peaceful slumber as my pessimistic thoughts engulf my mind into a state of manic depression, and I hate everything all over again. I cannot wait until the sunlight warms my face the next morning. If I make it that far.

Your body was cold and lifeless as it entered the morgue
But your heart was relentlessly beating and the lights were so bright they could've blinded you right then
They declared you dead right as you came through the door
With your smile miles away, thousands of feet underground
Your unforgiving diamond eyes losing their luster, the irises suffocated by the negative images that were presented before them
It was his crooked heart and broken smile that killed you wasn't it?
His impassive and brute  being shot you in the back the second you entered your apartment
The scene of the crime, the morgue, the cemetery, it is all interchangeable
He ruined you here didn't he?
You could've traveled the world and felt all of nature's delicate touch's
But his message left your worrisome and naïve personality to retreat back to the insane asylum of a home
And you died here
He killed you, didn't he?
You would've been fine had you stayed away
But you came rushing back to him, despite his absence and your contrite feelings toward him
You were yet another victim of death by arrival

You are not living; you are merely existing in world where the human race would never grow endangered
Are you just another eight digit number on America's attendance sheet walking down the same road your whole life?
Or are covering up the numbers with letters to reveal a name, skipping over the cracks engraved into the sidewalk aching to pull you beneath the surface?
Are you breathing in air and exhaling carbon dioxide?
Or are you letting in the world's endless exuberance and exhaling the negative fumes of a mundane existence?
You must exist to live, no, calumny, even then you may create a world of fiction in which an apparition of your liking swoops into the world and lives alongside you, sharing the riveting experiences you decide on having
You must live to exist, no, calumny, even then you can hole up in the darkest corner of your attic and breathe as any other living person may do, but you can stay there forever, stagnant and trite
Happiness is metaphoric, and may be interpreted as you please, but know this:
To live, to be fulfilled in every dream you've ever dreamt, to be content in every relationship you've ever had the pleasure of encountering, recognize that happiness is but a metaphor for life
We must believe this to be true if we exist as an unimportant particle in a world bustling with significance
You can suffer throughout your entire existence,
Or you may take the metaphor and morph it into a physical representation of your life
Prove us wrong, that happiness is not a metaphor
Show us that happiness is concrete
And that happiness is real

He clings onto a breeze that's already found another head of hair to ruffle and selection of papers to rummage through
With emerald eyes losing the sparkles that once blinded a woman with a tendency to fall in love at the mere sight of a soft glow hidden beneath a smile or carrying the heavy bags under tired eyes

He clutches onto an evanescent sun, hiding behind a set of rusting leaves, carried away by the soft wind
With chapped lips losing the color that once ran vibrantly through his veins, enthralling a woman to fall to his tender kiss as he wrapped her into him

He embraces the steaming cup of coffee his fingers curl around, warming his increasingly numb hands, frozen by the air's cold and bitter bite
With silky brown hair just peaking out of his cap losing it's electrification that once enticed a photograph from a woman who was attracted to his gentle, supple caress

He releases his frozen breath that consumes the environment in front of him, a misty fog that possesses his vision
With racing tears flooding his face, the cries almost push themselves through, but instead put out the fires blazing inside his conscious, left over from a woman that used to leave matches beside his heart when the winter encountered his soul

He scratches the memories from his mind that seemed to overpower his every thought, imperializing his every emotion, raising an assortment of rages within
With uneven heartbeats blurring his mind, erasing his train of thought only to get off at the next stop where a woman stands and delivers a devilish kiss to his chapped lips, filling him with life only to **** it all out of him as she pulls away

Anarchy, deception, release, anguish
He can't tell the time on his watch as his vision fades into the darkness of the sky that seemed to be a reflection of his inner being
A devil in disguise, he fell into Hell when he fell beside her in bed
Anarchy, deception, release, anguish
He's been through all of the seasons
He's been through all of the stages

He tears apart the heavy veneer holding him back from living
The elasticity of his sanity stretching as far as it possibly could
The woman that once sewed him together
Has now severed each and every stitch that made him whole
But he lets go
He throws away his coffee and travels on
Leaving the memories and the anger buried in the dirt he stood upon moments ago
He's finally freed from the evils that sought out to ruin him