Running Dreams
I've always been told that dreams are where you go to escape reality and live in fantasy. I've believed that for as long as I can remember, until now. My dreams have become a series of horror movies, and I'm the first one to die. Yet I never do, I always come back for more. I can't sleep anymore, it's the one place I fear the most, my head. All I can see feel are my short comings, the person I wanted to be, planned to be and failed to do so... I'm so tired and so scared of who I am. It's gotten to the point where I can't look in a mirror with out cringing, and no one sees it, what I do. It's in my eyes, pools of darkness, sorrow. What is this? Who am I?
The leather binding is soft, it's feels cool against my skin, and I wonder, do I deserve to be in this book? I flip the pages, it's all pictures of me before her, when I was happy... alive. I can't stand the constant thumping in my chest, I want it to stop, I want my heart to stop beating, beating for her, for a love that never was and never will be. I can't take it, the memories so I close the book and set it back down...
The flames are alive, like my dreams, they burn the book; burn what I used to be. And it feels good; it's a closure I desperately needed. But I can still feel the palpitations in my chest, it was supposed to stop. I was supposed to die in those flames, I don't feel anymore, I'm a monster, I was never meant to have a heart. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins, waves of red sea sifting through me. And every wave hurts, more and more with a growing intensity. What can I do to stop it? Who do I have to be to stop it? I changed, I'm not longer happy, isn't that enough. I've burnt my memories, erased a past. It never existed.
My walls are bare, no frames, no paintings, no color. Just blank, blank like my mind, nothing there to fill me up, I'm empty and I don't know whether I like it or not. I suppose that's what I'm meant to feel; emptiness. My dreams don't haunt me anymore, when I sleep, all that's there is vast sea of black. But sometimes colors shoot through my head, neon pinks, yellows, greens, purples, blues, like fire works. And I know, I know I'm still living, but its different now. I don't have this continuous pain stabbing at me. All those colors bring me peace... When I wake, it doesn't hurt anymore. All emotions gone, all that's left are the ashes of my hopes, fears, loves, and I'm left hollow and I can't wait to return to my dreams, to an eternal sunshine of a spotless mind...