My days are long, my nights are cold, as they are spent silent, and alone. I am at the point where fanatic manipulators die to be. That happy medium between being traumatized and bereavement.
I am now at the point where my sensations are dry. The waterworks that once ran down my face are now dry. I am altering who I am, who I was, what I am. I am turning into someone else you will never know. The old me is dead and dry.
I am tired of dreaming and through with trying. Tired of living, yet scared of dying. Maybe things have now enhanced for you, but you never noticed at all that I've been through.
You swayed me to the point where you had all control. Oppressed. Dejected. I knew it was coming.
You were just different. There was something there, that I just couldn't get enough. High on love. Drunk on lies. Blinded by reality. Tripping on false hope. Slurring my apologies. Cringing on your lies.
I knew it was coming.
I will never speak a wicked word of who you really are and what you have done to me. For I still love you, but you never loved me....this will be easier for you, than it is for me. I will forever remain emotionless.
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