Within the endless void in which I constantly dwell, I struggle more and more to keep my sanity from escaping me. The more I dwell, the harder it becomes to remain from a vast, parallel reality, which opens up to me freely. My own home, a sanctuary of hate. For myself, for this life I "live." I cannot depend upon myself for happiness and consolation anymore. Only a few others can provide these essentials. The lost vision; the girl by the lake; the undeniable lover. As I listen to ecstatic waters, and look beyond the lake in front of me, I witness the sunset; its wondrous power to bring, give, and nurture life. At this moment, I feel as if I'm waiting. Waiting for that stranger, that perfect stranger, to walk by and discuss the essence of God. The bench I sit upon: empty. God does not provide a soul to bring it warmth. You may ask, "How can the bench be empty if you are perched upon it?" I will tell you, I am no soul bearer. I have given too much of myself to others to have an inspiration or warmth to give to this bench. For I am only temporarily using its space for myself. Those in my life are very much alike. Most are only there for a temporary time. However, there are those who will be present for a much longer time. Unfortunately, the inevitable is the death of a dream. Because even though they are here to console me, I'm afraid they inevitably cause me pain. But nonetheless, if they were not present within my life, I would have no life at all. But what is a life without a soul? Put your head against my chest and you will find there is an absence of sound. I pour my heart out for others, and it keeps me from knowing my self. So for now I will remain, dreaming with a broken heart.