Dear Bed Time Ceiling,

                    Why is it that whenever I go to end the existence of my body, I happen to stare at you?

I lay down myself to evaporate my troubles, but like the rain it comes back down again....

Why can't I turn my body to the side and glare at a blank wall?

Your tiny hill and hole like outlines make up designs that drowns my heart right into Hell's thunder.

You’re dead, not even alive, but you every night you bring me to the closed in field of regret.

Why must you remind me? You ceiling that has a heart of stone

The time that I used and abused my actions for the pleasure of myself?

No one can see me now, but how can you?

I want to make an apology, but the signal won't go through...