One by one they left. Leaving behind scratches and scraps, remnants of something that was once so beautiful. So perfect.
And here I am. Alone.
Restless but unmoving. A dead weight on the bed as my eyes madly trace imaginary patterns on the white washed walls, desperately trying to focus on one single thing. My hands lay numb by my sides, twitching every so often, wanting.. needing to move.
Nothing is holding me down but I'm paralyzed.
They're gone. The beautiful creations of man that I once happily drowned myself in.
The words are gone, and my thoughts are tangled and caught in a web of confusion, an incoherent mess with no end.
For the first time in so long, I'm alone.
I swear. The words are gone and I'm feeling lonely and somewhat lost. I used to write so much shit and it was all stupid and wonderful and frustratingly addictive. But I can't anymore. And yes, it makes me sad.
