I know I'll see an end to this despair, but then I'm sure it'll start all over again.
I want to know if these years have been in vain: these months spend wasting away. Obsessing over the end of days or at least the impending death coming my way.
Part of me feels I'll see tomorrow, yet I'm not convinced it won't feel the same.
So take me to the place I love, where fears turn to fiction and dissolve into the space above the stars and dust and galaxies.
Too far to ever destroy me;
I'm safe from the cosmic blackened seas whose waves cash down on me with crushing blows of anxiety.
But sometimes I wonder if things really get better, or does the hand of time just beat us down until we surrender?
I've never been so scared of waking up.
These nights just never last long enough.
The sun creeps in and Ideteriorate into a lonely, isolated state of existence.
I hardly exist at all until the sun retreats and the night falls, and the shades of grey overtake me and wrap me in a shield of dreams.