trustmesweetie
01/12/05, 01:14 PM
Every night I die and every morning I'm resurrected to live another meaningless day waiting for the sun to sleep so that why I can die again. I feel most alive when I'm dead and most dead when I'm alive. I guess that's how heartache works. It's the blueprint for depression. The master plan. The rough surface that strikes the match that ignites the thought process that burns in your mind. You think of sleeping. Dreams are saviors, but with heartache...dreams are two-timing, backstabbers. They take you away from the reality that you were obviously not good enough for the one that you long for, but they seem to torture you with their images and with the 'could have been's' or the 'what if's'. I hate dreams.