Through Cobain Tinted Glasses

The nightmares now come and go like they're a part of the scripted reality (and part fiction) that I live in.

I'm wasting away, with each passing minute. I'm disappearing into the big nothingness that is time. I'm fading into oblivion. I'm losing my life in the gamble of fate, destiny and death.

I'm dying.

With each second that's flying past, I'm growing old. And ugly. And weary. And fragile.

Stop, please?