One finds hope in everyday things. Dreaming. Squandering away the few precious hours I probably have left in the ever accepting, sweet bosom of my dreams, floating in the phony mirth of my imagination, only to be pulled back and struck upon, in the never ending abbys of reality. 

I feel no pain; pain is probably like a jester in a court of thorns - the only fear I have is reality and pain guides my frail soul away from it. A nightfall does not come at once, it is shrouded by the seemingly unchanging twilight before we are enveloped in the ever grasping fist of darkness, and it leaves us standing on an empty beach of broken dreams, dead ambitions, we look at a ghost of who we once were. It is in this incessant continuity of nothingness that I tread on. 

I often wonder what is the use of the crap that I go through, what's the use of wasting my youth behind an aim that I dont even want to achieve. I often wonder what's in my heart. 

'When you look into the mirror, 
Who do you see? 
Do you still see yourself,
Someone else,
Or a ghost of who you used to be?'