Everything was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt.

Nothing is just nothing — and some say beauty is endless. 
Existing to encourage, then destroy the defenseless.
In the wake of life, where you can’t help but feel small.
Where beauty forfeits — bright trash and shopping malls.
In desire of clarity, where time seems to stop. 
Your perceptions heightened — held, ready to drop.
Grasp tightly, for these moments soon missed. 
Embrace the decadent — fruit stolen, lips kissed.
We feel them all the same, and our feelings they claim.
They make us feel shame, and we hasten to blame.
Nothing, and Everything will live longer than us for certain. 
To them we’re just moments — next story, call curtain.
Everything can’t save us, for there’s Nothing to save. 
Nothing is just nothing, no feeling — no grave.