The strobe light’s hit my fragile hands, as my veins throb I take the pen
and start to write, the werds just flow inside of my brain. The sounds from the radio mesh with the sound’s of the pen hitting the paper, It’s almost intriging how they match rythmic patterns, I glance every so often out the window, Soon after the cloud’s start to move in swirls faster and most eerie lookin. If you listen close enough you can hear the whispering hollow’s of the trees outside. The rain starts to fall delicatly on the roses outside my window. It’s like music in it’s own way. I soon lay on the bed, and Start to dream……
I remember that this is all a dream, when I was up in the mourning, but how did I land in the darkness of the graveyards? why am I in the box with no air…how did i get here? these questions puzzle me, Then i realize I have died…inside…I can no longer feel… but I still long to be felt….This is all a dream…and thoes are my last words