Being sold dreams would hurt more,
If only I had them.
All I have is nightmares,
The nightmares of reality.
Chasing me before I go to sleep,
Haunting me when I am asleep.
Knocking on my back door,
Telling me to wake up.
As if its as easy as it seems.
Don't believe everything you see on TV,
For I have learnt the hard way,
That there's no such thing as dreams.
Just your wild imagination,
And feelings.
Lying to keep you alive.

How Could Love Hurt???
We don't even talk no more
Ig we ran out of words for each other
But your my everything
She's my heart
She's my world
But we barley get along
Have you ever been in love??
Well I have
It was the best in my life
But my past life changed all that with the blink of an eye
I can't function
I need time to think feels like I'm falling
Don't wanna have to start all over
I'm use to you baby
I just want you back in my arms
Baby I need you back with me

It is February again.
It was February years ago that I hid.
I hid and I climbed out again in the spring.
We wrote songs. We shared songs.
You weren't a ghost then
and I didn't know at the time you would become one.
I tied my hair back to tune my guitar
and you said you liked how my neck looked exposed.
You are a ghost now, and it is February again.
But thank you for the songs I wrote when it was February then.
They are still favorites of mine.

truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just  stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.