Still and Messy

The hallways are crowded, but empty, as I make my way to my car to see a crowded, but empty parking lot. There are a few distractions along the way, and I light up, my light bulb burning at the dimmest possible level without being completely off, like it usually is. For a second, I open my eyes, I come out of our coma, and I can see a face, I can hear a voice, I can feel a body pressing against mine. And it's not the face I want, but in this moment, I am alive. The light goes off, and I slip back into the sleep. It is a dreamless sleep because if I had dreams, we'd be running. We'd be hand in hand, running away from all of the madness, the hypocrisy, the liars, the back stabbers.. the rejection. We'd have each other, and it would be enough. I know that it's never enough, but this is my dream. This is my dream, and this is our coma. This is our coma because you dug me further into it. We were out of it, both of us, but now we are both back under the imaginary anesthesia. We are out, we are numb, we are borderline dead. No matter how many times you try and excuse yourself from this, you're in it just as much as I am. You held onto something that didn't hold onto you, and you fell out of a window. I fought for something so ferociously, so blindly, that I ended up damaging only myself. We are broken people, you and me. We are broken people. But my light goes on full for you, the bulb exploding, the glass shattering into thousands of pieces, brilliant crystal floating through the electrical current in the air. I want to paint you with my words.

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What's the point? I'm sure I wouldn't like it very much if I got what I wanted anyway. People are stupid like that sometimes. They like viewing their unaccessible options as objects of perfection. Whatever. I don't think I care that much. I just like to write about it because I haven't been able to write in a long time. The desire is noticeably starting to fade.