Not all true.

Immolation

Slowly, the fabric of optimism soaks through, my skin washed clean of pleasant, of that joy. Soaks through with a realization long denounced, robed in denial or disillusion. And one day, maybe we all will wake up and realize the best things to happen to us have happened, and now it's time. Blow the candles out, no one will be sleeping there, no one worth caring for, no one worth the might, the strength, the shaken earth, the calloused hand/heart. And the day that all happens, a new hope will awake, a hope that the road goes on forever so I'll never find the end, never have to return. And without a hand/heart to hold, I may as well color myself like the sun.