The past is made out of facts... I guess the future is just hope.
Your dreamers. You ridiculous children. You dancing grinning fuckups. Here is your bright future. Your earnest, saccharine hope. How does it taste dripping from the neck of everyone you love?
...and we'll see what happens when we say Yes while this rigor mortis world screams No.
Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
I am Dead, but it's not so bad. I've learned to live with it.
