darn

i miss writing.

i was a good writer. I would murder the english language with my twists until no one would even understand them at the end. Now it's gone.

My whole body is dead. My spirit is dead. My dreams are dead. My head is dead (which I invested in for the longest time, and now it's wasted.). My hopes? Hmm, just a few wick strands and it's history.

Or should I say that I'm just sleeping?