It's been years now since anything could hurt me. Liar.
Like last night, they are not like tremors; they are worse than tremors. There are these terrors. And it feels like somebody was gripping my throat and squeezing.
Some say, now suffer all the children and walk away a savior, or a madman and polluted from gutter institutions. Don't you breathe for me, undeserving of your sympathy because there is no way that I'm sorry for what I did. And through it all, how could you cry for me? Because I don't feel bad about it. So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep. The hardest part is letting go of your dreams.
A drink for the horror that I'm in, for the good guys and the bad guys, for the monsters that I've been. Three cheers for tyranny, unapologetic apathy. There isn't any way that I'm coming back again.
The hardest part is the awful things that I've seen.
"Sometimes I see flames...and sometimes I see people that I love dying...and it's always..."
Just sleep. Just sleep. Just sleep.
Wake up. Wake the fuck up.
"And I can't...I can't ever wake up..."
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