I once said I only write when I'm miserable. Hello truism, we meet again.

Its far too late, burning the midnight oil over tired hearts. There is a drip, drip, drip of pathetic desperation setting the rhythm. I keep dreaming of the wrong you. A rot, slowly eating me away inside. I can't eat, I can't sleep with out thinking of you. I feel consumed. A slow smoldering flame. I am twisting, writhing, grinding to this dance. So frustrated and wound tight. A repressed corkscrew of guilt, in the pit of my stomach growing stronger. This war rages on in the chamber's of my heart. A viscous battle for happiness that leaves a path of misery in its wake.