Chasing what isn't there in the hopes of making it true, The power to bend, to break, to twist that which is, This power lies at my fingertips. But to chance it all, to take one more risk, To roll the dice and pray that I may save myself from loneliness. But should I lose in this game of fate, There are two dark paths which wickedly await. To rip apart the world that is and rebuild it into the one that I pursue, But in doing so, tear all that is familiar from you? The flip of a coin, the roll of a die, To put your neck on the line when the fault should be mine. Should my hopes fall short and the paths draw near, May my ashes be scattered should I pain those I hold dear. The path of the rose, that of the beautiful bladed vine, For I fear that I may not succeed to fill the hole wraught, so benign; Or the path of the black flame, dark, vicious, and impossible to quench, The bounty of my efforts leaving us burned and in torment. To strive to be more but to fail as a friend, To bring forth suffering that will bring us to an end, Or to live behind a lie and continue to pretend? To harmonize with your silence, never to show you that you could have more? But to try, to sever everything you have and to fail to fill the gap, To ruin everything one more time. This war; inside, it's killing me, So here I'll sit, biting my tongue until it bleeds, My open arms withheld by this straitjacket I put on myself, Drowning in loneliness until you pull me from this hell. But I'll sit here and wait for my chance to defend, And wonder if your silence screams as loudly as mine does within.