The waking up is the hardest part.

Listening to: John Mayer // Dreaming With A Broken Heart

The familiar names. Staring back at me.
Click.
I type a greeting.
Backspace.
Close window.

The familiar numbers. Plastered on the screen.
Beep.
I press the "Dial" button.
Connecting.
Cancel.

The familiar faces. Standing a few meters away.
Smile.
I raise a hand to wave.
You turn.
Withdraw.

Another day; another game of charades.
Another day; another mask of deception and lies.
Another day; another façade.

You don't know anything.
You don't know a thing about the wars that keep raging between my heart and my head.
The carnage. The destruction. The chaos.

A never-ending battle for what is left of my sanity.

Enervated and debilitated.
I can no longer distinguish between the fine threads that separate reality from fantasy.

I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
So why won't you just listen instead of constantly patronizing and condemning me?

"Filthy hypocrites, all of you are the same.
Empty vessels with your sonorous sounds,
making all that you say sound completely profane,
time to choke upon the lies that you've wound."

Blardeh hell, fucking PMS.
I still feel the same way for the first part though.