Sleepless for the reason of no more dreams.
For the reason of not having anything to think about.
For the reason of only having nightmares and why things won't happen anymore.
Happiness is sold to the past.
Holding on to what could have been, but to always realize it is gone forever.
And needs to be let go.
No more excitement in tomorrow.
That's all it ever is anymore.
It's like having a blank canvas with only white to paint with.
It's not much, but it gets you through.
Hidden away and invisible.
Only open to the eyes of the beholder.
Feeling alone is the only comfort that is ever around now.
Who is left but yourself?
There is no more time for "missing".
It never mattered anyway.
That's what's always played back in my head anyways.
No motivation and only failure as the light.
Work is the only thing that fills these things called days and nights.
Displacement here and displacement there because you never feel "right".
Home is a myth.
Walking as if life has always been a stable constant and everything is actually okay.
But as the dark sun closes another day,
The matter stands wondering if it's real or not.
The matter of wondering where time has gone and where it is going to go now.
That's all people ever think about.
Not anytime in the future.
They want things now or it's never.
That's all it'll ever be, like chains shackled to a tree that was never going to move in the first place.
The ringing in your ears just keeps getting more violent each second the clock ticks away.
Static is all that fills the open air now.