Sing Me Your Masochistic Lullaby and Make Me Your Perfect Little Broken Butterfly

He has the twisted ability of the charmer. He is the puppet master of what she should know is the flame of a candle that all too soon will burn out. Fill her mind with your cursed lullabies - she'll fall into every trap you set. How about you tell her you've missed her, then the heartache will scratch the surface. Don't forget to say you're sorry, by now she'll believe every word that falls from your tongue and is graced by your perilous voice. And remember to top it off with that you've changed - she'll be head over heels for you any moment now, just sit in your clandestine glory and wait. His lies are coated with honey; there couldn't be a sweeter danger. She made a promise to herself that she would never let this happen again, she would never let him happen again. It looks like she became the one thing she despises the most; she became the worst liar of them all. A liar who does not create a world of make believe in other peoples' minds, but yet in her very own to ease the blow. "I can't get in over my head this time," she says. His ruthless goodbye left nothing, but a world of self-destruction and self-hatred. Lure her, trap her, and then let her go broken hearted. Isn't that what you do best? You let me go.

Sing me to sleep, I'll love you forever in my nightmare that is us.

The Distance Is Daring; Oh, the Young and Reckless Love It So

In his perfect story, there are the torn pages - stained by the actions of the ruthless heartbreaker and with the saline of the heartbroken. In her perfect story, there are the pages of enchantment - abundant with the moments no lover's soul could ever allow to escape their minds. In their perfect story, there is the unbelievable - these pages full of inked hope and promise. The one thing we must remember is everyone's perfect story falls together as one like the pieces of a puzzle. What makes these stories so undeniably fascinating is not that in the end they are all intertwined, but yet the idea that not one of them is the same. No piece of the same puzzle is identical, and for this we must all create our own perfect stories to fit into the big picture of everything we already know. I've discovered something wondrous about my perfect story; in my perfect story is you. We all make mistakes, and we all say things we regret and wish so much we could take back, but after all is said and done there will always still be someone there who finds you remarkable. Within me, you can search for, find, and see that.

Oh, the distance may be daring, but nothing worthwhile will ever be right before your eyes.

Little White Balloon - It's Slipping Through My Little Insignificant Fingers

Her past, it's bleeding into her disguised imperfect present. The flawless image the present was so beautifully painting itself before her eyes as being has all been a ruthless lie. She should have been anticipating, expecting, knowing this was going to happen. No matter how perfect her life may seem at any one moment in time, the car crash of emotions is not far away. Although, it is far enough away that it is hidden among the city lights and traffic jams - lurking. She's dazed and confused; her puzzled expression tells us so. Everything she knew and loved is slipping from her fingertips. Control is no more. Oil and water, that is what the people in her life are slowly, but without doubt becoming. In a way you could say these are the moments that hold the most luminous beauty of life - the inescapable, enchanting disaster. We are someone, and sometimes that someone changes, or rather the people that make us that someone change. When what makes you everything you ever thought you were leaves, believing you can remain the same is a fantastical delusion of fantasy. You can't. When those people decide to change, you're forced to comply and change whether you know it or not. We are constantly changing. The only problem is, change comes with a price.

That balloon, it made her soar.

God's Own Teardrops Danced Upon My Fragile Fingertips

Today on my way home from school, my lack of concentration caused me to miss my bus stop. The typical dreaded thought of the fact my walk home would be twice as long because of my foolish mistake flooded my mind. In all honesty, I can't say I was even the least bit thrilled about the thought of having to be walking home in the melancholic excuse for april weather we had today. As I made my way past the main road's traffic and into the side streets of suburbia, a realization hit me. I can't quite be sure if it was an accident of nature or one of faith, but despite the buckets of water drenching my hair and clothes, the rain put me in a serene state of peace with the world. Rain drops are the marionettes of God; they wash away the illusion we build ourselves up to be with the paint of want, fear, regret. Maybe if we took more time to take in the moment, the past would fade away into vivid nothingness - a distant echo. If we're always living in the cobwebbed memories of the past, the true beauty of life will forever be masked from our eyes.

Always feel, for not everything can be seen or heard.

Last Night, I Attended a Masquerade Ball of Shattered Dreams

We all wear disguises; women painting their faces with disfiguring cosmetics as men bathe their exteriors in charm. What lurks beneath this bleeding mascara and tainted lipstick, this fool proof trick of a traitor? Yesterday evening, I myself attended a masquerade ball of shattered dreams; this attendance of mine, I was unaware of. I wear no masque. I don't paint my face with plastic toxins as does the typical woman, nor knowingly bathe myself in contorted enchantment like the typical man. I am the ambiguous. I am the fool. I am the pawn in your twisted game. Why put me through this playful torture? The masque you wear, my king, has bled your true colours; the colours of a venomous snake. You are the hidden.

Miss me not, for I am only lost and one day will be found.

Perfection Is Our Heart's Greatest Illusion

It's a mirror just waiting to shatter. It occurs for the shortest amounts of time just so it can break you into a million pieces when your castle walls finally cave in. Emotional pain subdues physical pain any day. With physical pain you heal in time, and even though they say "time heals all wounds," the emotional pain never really leaves you. Who are 'they' anyways? Their unmistaken philosophy could not be any more wrong. What are you suppose to do when it feels as though the world you know is becoming the world you knew and crumbling beneath you? Are you suppose to prepare for the fall? No. No amount of preparation could ever prepare you for the fall that is about to come. We live, we love, and we break. How do we fix ourselves though? Hopeless abandonment is its own bitter-sweet symphony, but I'm not going to write you a symphony my dear friend - in the end, you'll write one all on your own. So go ahead and put on your light show baby, because it'll only last for a night.

Everything looks perfect from far away, don't fool yourself into thinking you're anything special.

The Russian Roulette of Emotions

The game of jealousy - it's a game we all take part in, whether we're aware of it or not. We're either the lion or the lamb, the victim of silent actions or the victim of words, spoken from the lips of a killer. It's a rather sick game, the Russian Roulette of emotions - it's deadly. The only difference is, this twisted game of jealousy we all play is inevitable. How does this game work though if someone is trying to use it for personal gain, for the attention of a certain individual? Granted, not so well if that person has caught on to their convoluted mind games. I suppose in the end it'll all play out like a game of cards, with the old saying of "if you play with fire, you'll get burned" attached to the end so loosely, but just enough to tag along for the ride.

The actions of jealousy give voice to the words we can't bring ourselves to say.