Every word, that needed to be said was said. The remnants of conversations past and present started to fade away.
Funny isn't it? No matter how hard we try to cleanse ourselves of the memory of each other it comes back to haunt us in every new person we meet. I call it the curse of this sad little town that I'm so desperately trying to escape.
Everything I want to say, every word, every syllable, every punctuation mark is hiding somewhere in the recesses of my disgusting mind. The mind that holds the keys to the secret of everything we could ever hope to want to know. I spent hours wasting away every vowel the world had to offer me, I filled libraries with my knowledge and watched it all burn away.
Every page, every word, every letter.... all gone with the aid of my last cigarette.
So I'll smoke the ashes, and hope she comes back again, because lonely nights of desperation without inspiration lead me to believe that everything I could ever hope to be is all just a lie and my art will never be good enough for anyone outside of this hell hole. Because we're all just so content living these lies and I do;t want to have to stay here forever because =e this worlds to big of a place to waste away in one deserted town that's deteriorating in front of our very faces.
How long will we avoid the truth, we? Them, or rather, you. How long do you want to pretend that you're happy in this mediocre place. Lets just pile one happy lie on top of the other until they all come toppling down on us, crushing the very fabric of reality as we know it, leading us to the light that is the grey sky on a rainy day in the middle of a field of sunflowers and gravestones overlooking the rest of our lives.
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