Sometimes my eyes open into a world where my body is stuck...


There's usually a hand that's gripping my head with a shadow man telling me that if I'm quiet I'll be fed. There's a cold atmosphere surrounding my mind and drowning it in gray sounds. A wave of pulses rushing through me like a siren's sound, forcing me to drown and now I'm truly silent... The shadow man wins once again and for one to feel this void of black numbness is one driven into insanity. I've exploded because sometimes he takes pleasure in torturing my prospering mind. The hand on my head once released me and I could see, but all I could see was a horror show called destiny. I don't know how anyone can call this terror a fantasy when all it shows you is the inevitable tragedies. The hand went from my head and gave me an awe, and then...it went for my throat and closed all of my hope. For some of you, you may think I simply sit there in fear as this shadow man plays with my body in a fit of stillness, but I tell you this, I speak to him.

Although I never actually say anything, he always knows my thoughts.

Little lonely weakened willow, saddened sour by blue fate? Forced to tricking your yearning soul somber and acknowledging wake. Wrest duly drowned in inevitable sorrow someday you'll yield an advent romancer.

I don't always understand the shadow man, and I do wonder why he never scares me...he let go of my throat and then I yelled until I was set free...

I wonder what the shadow meant. His words stick like glue to a stick. I'm fated to something uncertain...my world may have just now been broken.