I woke up one morning,
And it was all gone.
No thoughts of you crept into my lonely mind,
Just ones and zeroes,
Just a picture,
what's done is done.

What do I want for Christmas?
I don't want.
How much do I love you?
I don't love.
All I want, is for the page to turn,
For my nothing to turn,
Into something.

I know now,  
Life is a series of short stories.
And as bad as I want to write my own,
I hand the pen to my fear and addictions.
Will I be alone?
I'm afraid.
Will I be forgotten?
My oldest fear.
Will life pass me by?
I won't allow it.

I will change,
If not for the best,
For me.
I will be the rain,
And wash away this,
Insecurity.

For all I know,
Is that I dont,
And I am no longer tied down,
By the ideas,
Of is,
And is not.