Just like a moth drawn to an open flame, I can’t help but be attracted to the things I know that will hurt me most. Withered, severed my connection to all things impractical. The things that once set my soul ablaze no longer produce that; oh so familiar spark. Fulfilled tendencies to dance with the devil, Just a roll of the dice to see tomorrow. The hollow filled with sorrow, find me at peace with outlandish dreams. I greet the day with a grinding of teeth, headaches bleed through my thoughts as ink seeps though paper. I’ve grown so fond of the night, I swear I can hear the moon weep for tomorrow.