When did it happen? When did I start becoming my own fears? One day wake up, hey, I feel tired, Here, have a monster. It'll get me hyper. Then I realized it was all worth nothing, only in my own make believe, but why? Was this the original plan? My blueprints say so different. Life is colorless, at least now, colorful, was it ever? Hey, I'm here, let me lay it down, she's there, I wonder if she noticed me, I'll just wait and if lucky hug her, I always do the same. I do not see any results. Maybe lunch will be better but what a surprise, not here, not there, not anywhere, anyone, no one, only me and a made conversation stuck in my head. Meant to be heard. I have a collection of those by now, some of them are artificial, others actually mine. Does it matter really? No, not to me, I do not put any actual feeling into it because I know it is worthless. Was it ever worth it? I recall it was, I recall it was worth being there saying the things I said. But then, it never was, will it ever? "Let me look into green eyes" I ask. You are like a drug, a drug only of the mind, the heart, a dream to only be in my nights 2 or 3 times then to not ever leave any hope alive on my pillow. Pull my blanket. Feet touch cold ground. Let me be cold. Hand me the gun on top of your head. Pull the trigger designed by my own desire. Bullet. Name. Red rose I gave. Out of green eyes and back into my own. Perhaps it will be better once I'm upstairs. Partner in crime. Hello. I see her. Outer arms wrapped around her. Wrath. Jealousy. Not to panic. Control. Intel. My own. Walk over. Around. To her. Sound. Voice. Words. Me. I did not see you today. Never in 30 minutes. Soul to be gone into a place where instant happiness is sold. Body disfigures. Face desperate and anxious to taste artificial blood. Sick. Degenerate. Stares. Back and forth. On to you. On to me. Return. Soul. Back to the cycle of my own creations. Up stairs. An upper level of unnecessary pain. Face. Green eyes again. Small lips differ crystal glass. See through. Reach into my pocket and pull out an all-made word by word conversation. Fallen victim. Her arms now wrapped around me. Depart. A few feet away she is. Head on desk. Pages before eyes. Desperation. Anxiety. Shooting star in mid-air. Universe falls on Earth. Mind collapses. Out of green eyes and back into the day. Sighs. I'm a hopeless romantic.
