All the bad things you wish on your siblings in envy when you're young, what if those wishes are fulfilled when you grow up? And they build up, and only one of you gets hit, for Fortuna saw that you were treated wrong, and those wrongs shall be made right in one action. It's the stuff of suicides and late-night shows.
And we start using words like "whereas" and "thus," and we feel like we are hated and loved, always wronged and always treated so unjust. And we blame disease, and we go to lengths, and we have a sip, and we fall apart.
We take our leave of the Past, and follow instead the Future. We don't look over our shoulders, for there are the people we used to be, and we dare not face them. "Hey," a scream is sounded from the lips that are no longer ours, "your face is dirty, but I don't know your name."
And old plans that work out by random chance, and waking up at two AM though your clock says its ten, and we are disappointed with the people we never believed in, and let them convince us again that that which we never had we can have once again, and thus it is fulfilled.
And the songs we never liked, that burn through our souls because we know we should love them now; and the first chapter and the last, or is the latest the first and the old one's a memory? You should fix your amnesia cause you're incoherent.
Either that, or we're only liars. And it's all about who's the best.
The meaninglessness of hatred. It takes willpower. Love is easy.
The art of construction lies within the created. The art of destruction lies within the act itself.
Destruction must surely be superior, even if the result might not be.
The art of deconstruction must lie both within the result and within the act.
So deconstruction must surely be superior, and the result will be as well.