Your whole life is made up of missed chances, mayhaps, mishaps and failures.
A downwards spiral, worse than that of the supermassive black hole in the center of the Andromeda galaxy.
You've turned down saviour upon saviour, be it from mankind or from within you, from the fear of changes.
Stuck in a dreary dream, a hellish nightmare of your so called reality, constantly possessing knowledge of "could've, would've, should've"'s.
If you could break loose, the sun might once again shine upon your relieved face in the first day of spring.
If you could break free, the wind would whisper your name in awe, and the very might of the sea would bow to your wretched smile.
Instead, you sit in your head, writing lyrics and poems, drawing fantasies too fantastic to be experienced by someone like you, whispering little nothings to your eyes and ears from the tip of your pencil.
Your body is your cage, and your mind lost the key in a battle versus the reality that you've built around yourself.
You're stuck inside your protective wall, without a way out, and your worst enemy, yourself, is attempting to knock down your walls.
So you flee, to your land of make believe, where you float around in the silent and cold gray clouds.
Forever alone in your chosen solitude, while living behind a mask, behind a wall, desperately trying to pull it off, to get out, while staying in.
The worst kind of cake to keep and eat at the same time.