You may not like it but...
You know more about the universe than it does about you.
Even if you know nothing.

Awake or asleep I do not remember my dreams.
Like you I once did dream.
Long since did my dreams abandon me.
Though I know I once dreamt.
I vaguely recall nightmares and I sense I have lived them.
I know the shadows they left and the darkness now, where once dream was possible.
Perhaps it was that I imagined dreams, for my memories recall once believing I was happy.
Or perhaps that is just my dreams reminding me of their death.
I ponder if my dreams... like my memories... are all of my past.
Are they still dreams and is it still dreaming if they are but memories?

I look upon shards of dreams
all shattered once taken in a blur.
Leaving me now only the reality
of something they never were.

I have held onto the tatters
of the promises the dream had made.
The memories and the fondness
and the wishing they had stayed.

At the time they held the warmth
and a true purpose to my days.
To give me fulfilment,
until dream and I went our separate ways.

To know the touch, to know the kiss
and the face of a true dream.
Only for it to fade and for loves embrace,
to not be as it would seem.

I cannot hide the hurt
and I wont trust love again.
I live each day in memory
where the scars of dreams remain.

How then can I hear the advice
such as you may give.
For without trust in hope and dream
is how I am now come to live.

Every year ends in darkness and starts in darkness.
Why does that seem like a revelation?

Which is the sadder life to lead?
To remember that I loved and was loved and it has passed.
Or to forget I loved and was loved as though it never was?

How do you recall the one you loved and forget that they have gone?

So many days spent wishing to be somewhere, with someone.
Endlessly needing to feel that someone somewhere needs me.
So tired of feeling and being empty. So empty from feeling tired.
So tired of just being.

Moving from nothing to nowhere and back again. Some days just too tired and empty to even deal with nothing and nowhere. Never changing, never varied and oh so never ending.
So tired of just being.

Repetition that drains, that saps, that devours and consumes.
Eating away just a little more of who I was, who I can be.
Eroding piece by piece who I was and how I see myself.
So tired of just being.

Pointless, aimless, redundant so totally without purpose.
Devoid of reasons to wake and no rest though I sleep.
So much time wasted, abused, misused, cursed and loathed.
So tired of just being.