how is life?

he strokes on the canvas are the only thing i'm sure about anymore
and each breath is built upon doubts and reassurances
i begin to see my mistakes in the reflection of your eyes
in the back of my mind all i tell myself everything will be okay
but it continues the thoughts that resurface
are telling me that i can't make it
that everything is a mistake
this is far too good to be true
and i start looking for the end
i'm tangled in not only the past but the future
my life surrounds me and i'm not sure how to take it
i've never been an optimist, it's just not how i'm built
i'm always looking for a downside
a chance to break the pain before it comes
but i can't take it
i can't do it anymore
cause i can't find the end to this
or maybe there's a possibility for too many
am i fooling myself
pulling the wool over my own eyes
telling myself that i'm deceptive
when i'm an open book
is this too much? am i fighting too hard for something that isn't suppose to be?
am i lying to myself?
i taught myself a story once when the paint was too hard to use
i told myself that there's only one way out of this hole i'm digging and it's down
things will get worse before they get good again but how long can i stand
to throw this hypothetical filth over my shoulder
and let every sullen word roll off of my back