I can feel us slipping down this slope
The slope we always feared would take us
One day we would arrive at this stop
Where tears are not enough
To stem the bleed from our hearts
Sooner or later we would be taken
And all that's left is a self-consuming darkness
An anger that blackens the soul to a point where
The final truth sets in upon our crushed minds
No one is ever really there in the end
We lean on walls that are made of silk
Without solidity we fall through with no hope
No one will be there to catch us this time
Maybe there was never anyone there to begin with
This is the point we may have reached
Who knows how much further there is
Maybe there is room before we slide to the bottom
But now it's too late for us to cry
Too late for optimism on this subject
All it is now is us and we alone with the dark
In the end maybe all we really have
Is our-cynical-selves.