There's just so much more to it.

Life' s a chore. Too much of a routine, maybe. And I'm hating it.



I'm sick over reviewing the same old messages and pages. But somehow, i just can't stop doing it. Its a habitual thing running in my veins. Shrouded beneath our skins lie broken souls. And like you, i want to be wanted. I do want to be healed. God.


You took me away. It felt all good. And while i was intoxicating in the unreal, you threw me right into a private ocean. Like a virulent bacteria; you ate up all my desires and reliances. Maybe you don't give a damn cause its prolly the umpteenth time you have trampled on little hearts. Maybe you weren't even prepared for anything. Or maybe you were just being you.
Maybe. If.



Its taking my life slowly. Why don't you stop that nervous bleeding in my brain.