Memories are like water color paintings. Over time the paint fades and chips away untill the veiwer can no longer tell what glourious image the artist had invisioned.
Insomia gets the best of me.
With every thought that lingers in my mind, the more pain I feel. Why is it that I'm proned to getting my heart broken? I didn't think I wore it on my sleeve, but I've been wrong before.
As time passes I forget my earliest, happy memories, and only the sad/hurtful ones remain. How can I fix something I know nothing about?
My heart catches the tears that I refuse to cry, making (possibly) my heartache even worse. (Heart ahces don't make good bedmates.)
Ticking clocks and silver jewlery surround me as I sit here waiting for something to happen. But I guess they were wrong when they said time heals everything, Time just makes the heart (and eyes) heavier.
Thoughtful and lonely, I only have myself to turn to. To talk to. But maybe I'm not as good of a listener as I though I was.
But warm hugs and kisses from a mother always makes things a little brighter; even if it is only for a minute.
Dreams rise and burst at the last second before they hit the stars. And they fall all the way down to the center of the Earth, hitting your heart like metors.
I guess I wasn't what he wanted, (just like everyother time) but can I blame him for it? No-just apologize for not being able to change for him to like me back. (My beleifs are louder than a Slayer concert.)
Deppression, like a verbally-abusive boyfriend, hits were it hurts the most. But there's no leaving deppression behind (I can't voulenterrly fix my mind.) Heartaches come crashing down upon me, crashing down like my favorite riffs.
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