Draining life to fill it with watered-down pain, can he feel now? If my teeth make an appearance, you'll be given your fix of my 'happiness,' injected through your cranium. I wish I could navigate my naive wishes, as I'm sinking in my pillows, and the light on the ceiling is winking at me as I'm patched up, written in 'unhappy' My uncanny doubts are fancying a feathery gift of sleep, unlike this fascination with falling feet to my death of dreams-
It's like I like sadness. I hate it, but I want to cry. I can't anymore. I'm so confused right now with everything in my life, just like this confusing writing.