randomrockstar

And I feel like I'm coming down from some unknown drug. I feel nostalgic for other times and other friends. I don't know when I died, but I did and it was something that the reaper generously overlooked and now I'm doomed to walk the surface alone and horribly un-alive. My blood doesn't flow, but it sits and burns holes in my veins in it's hurry to escape to somewhere else, but nowhere else because where else would it go? Someone has a dream. Others have plans. You have an idea. I am left with nothing. She is left alone. He is left undone. And no one is around to care. The tears that I won't ever cry again will fall for nothing and no one, only the mindlessness with which I sit and ponder not exsisting in some place else, other than this empty void where I float without you, and watch you through a two way mirror as you go about your life and you think you know, but you never will. You won't ever know until these positions are reversed and, believe me that one day they will be, you will sit here where I do, and watch me as I watch you, and long for just a touch, just a smell, or just a backward glance of recognition to liven up your patchetic exsistance. It's the existance that you are here for someone that isn't here for you but for someone else. Then you will see. Know. Hurt. Die. Just as I have.