Life may be too short, but it is too long.
Full of the mere memories of laughter, a faded smile, and an empty bottle at my fingertips.
Clinging to the past, yet willing for the future to break apart.
The sweet nostalgia from old photographs numbed by the lack of anything new.
How can success arrive,
When I cannot even value my own thoughts over dust?
Detached. From all the human mind is capable of. Torn. Even from the most basic of all feelings and ideas.
A lost soul, roaming an empty land.
Fearing my life is really nothing more than an urge
An urge to hurt
And an urge to die.
