Dead Stars

(Just like what I had mentioned in my previous post, there really are things you easily start that you eventually have a hard time completing.)

The Sandman had not yet visited me, thus drowsiness has no enough strength to pull me down in my unusually uncomfortable bed. My eyes, though red and sore from being up for too long, have no plans of shutting themselves close soon. My back, though aching, is not in the mood to be laid down just yet. I am agitated. I feel like I have something else to tell, despite the relatively long entry I had posted a few minutes ago. There is more to say. There is more inside that I have to spill.

Tell me when it's over. Tell me when you've decided to give up. Tell me when it all vanished like vapor on heated pavement. Tell me if it all faded with the mist. Tell me when they're broken -- the things we used to keep. Tell me if you had already displaced them into something more permanent. Tell me if it's exhaustion. Tell me if it's lost. Tell me if you're on your way again. Tell me when I shouldn't keep on standing at the corner anymore. Tell me if I shouldn't any longer. Tell me when it's over. Tell me, tell me, if all I see now are just dead stars.

This simply screams "Drama Queen!", but who cares? There's more to this than it actually appears. Keep reading. Beaucoup d'amore, Aine. <3