Whispers...can say so much, with so little. Their strength lies in the emotions from which they come.

Tears of sadness, they taste like salt.
Bleeding hearts, blood, too, tastes like salt.

There can be no more sadness, no more pain, and no more bad dreams. There is only time. Time to stop the bleeding. The dying.
Begin again with hope, then with dreams. And then maybe, just maybe, you will learn to live again.

Do not bleed on me! Bleed for me.
Do not bleed because you have to.
Bleed because you want to.

There's no way I will let you hurt me!
There's no way I will let you start!
I will let you die.
Watch me.
Just watch me.

You walk in the light from your own candle.
The shadows behind you are weak.
The light in your eye is fading.
Blow out the candle, and do the dark.
Your own light will show you the way out.

I hear your scream.
It does not scare me.

I feel your pain.
It does not phaze me.

I taste your blood.
It rejuvenates me.

If I whisper to you, that you are nothing,
but a figment, of that chaotic, false colored, shadowed, fragmented mind of mine, will you hear me?
I fear that you are not even...real.

I look across the field, into the tall grass.
You stand there, looking back at me.
The sun is behind you, yet you cast no shadow. I wonder. Am I your shadow?

Your eyes are closed. You can hear all that is around you. Everything is familar to you. So, open those eyes, and stop being a fool.