Well fall onto a powder-keg as we open our eyes. The world is dark and lack-lustre. Eyes glaring, waiting. Childhood innocence and wonderment fall from our eyes as we see humanity fucking burn. We stop being children the moment we realize that we're going to die old and alone. The moment we realize we won't and can't touch the stars. Sure, it's bitter sounding, but it's true. Grow up, because you can only lament so long on how hopeless it is. You can only take the drug so long before you start becoming what you hate just to get it. It's an endless fucking spiral.
We let our own demons howl at bystanders while we whine and cry over our own injustices and our own wounds; expecting sympathy, or some kind of kinship. Well, maybe if you sunk out of that mountain of self-pity, you could learn to accept it.
Own up to your demons, dammit. I won't have sympathy when they devour you, and neither will anyone else.
The chemical devours. The darkness falls. But we still stand. Flash flames in a dark dust abyss. But why? Why do these unsung prophecies still exist, despite the horror picture? Falling like a madman whose lost everything, that fear building inside is gone. Why? Because we are our demons. We created devil's night. Humanity is cold, heartless, apathetic and disenchanted. In the end, it doesn't matter. Because a human being isn't. Because that flame, that fear, still burns. Dreams drempt, love shared. Despite our unsentimental spoiled vision, it still flickers.