Well, the evidence is mounting
and my defense is growing tired
So consider this my confession
Consider this the end
I am an asshole and a hypocrite
I have a broken heart and spirit
Yes, I hide behind excuses
and keep churning out the lies
So please don’t take it personally
when I ignore all of your phone calls
I don’t mean to deny you closure
I just hate to deal with things
As much as it may fucking hurt you
it really is just that simple
I am immature, indifferent
and a useless piece of shit
Once upon a time
I may have been haunted
by ghosts and forgotten faces
but now they know that I am one of them
So they pay for all of my drinks
And I may stumble around in emptiness
and chemical addictions
but I feel no need to hide them
I wear them proudly on my sleeve
So when I wake up in the morning
stained in truth and vomit
I close my eyes and take a shower
and it’s all quickly washed away

I had a dream about her again last night. It’s two nights in a row now. Last night was different. I concentrated on every detail of her as if my life depended on it. She sat across from me. We talked and laughed. I was honestly happy. When I woke up, I remembered everything. I remembered her smile. I remembered her eyes. I remembered how her skin draped delicately over each of her 206 beautiful bones. It seemed so real. I thought it was profound. I thought it meant something. Then again, it was just a dream, and aren’t dreams merely a mechanism created by the body to reconcile what the heart desires with what the eyes see when we are awake? My practical side believes they could be just that, but my sentimental side refuses to accept it. It can’t. So I think that, with the promise of hope and potential, dreams are simply short films that the desperate mind shows to the restless soul to appease it and coax it into remaining in the body for one more day. When dreams eventually lose that power and control over those sensibilities of the spirit, we die.