Notes to Cindy: The Archives

There is so much that I have left to say, yet time won't let me form the words. It laughs at me and digs my grave. It waits for me to eat the dirt. There once was purpose in my heart. I know that purpose to be true, but time will tear my life apart, before I've learned enough to lose. The fear is there, beside the time. They're shaking hands and making deals. I'm trapped within this fear of mine, which makes me doubt what once was real, but what is fiction to a brain that spends it's time inside a dream and trades its fear for lies and hate, while starving for the truth they bring? The days are short and nights are long. My heart still beats inside my chest, singing me that morbid song, disturbing my attempts to rest. I waste my days expecting nights where inspiration seems to wait, yet there's not a word to write when I already know my fate.