Your All I See, All I Care About On This Earth. Love Me. This Sounds Like A Plea From A Desperate Little Girl, And Maybe It Is. I Just Can't Tell Anymore. I Don't Know Who I Am, I Don't Know Who You Are. If You Don't Love Me As You Once Did, Then Is Any Of This Even Worth Fighting For? The Next Time I See You, Will I Be Able To See The Lacking Of Your Love In Those Saphire Eyes? Will I Even Be Able To Look Into Your Eyes? This Will Never Go Away. I Can't Be Happy Without You, But When I'm With You I'm Miserable. Which Is Worse I Ask Myself. Having You For Myself Or Giving You Away To Someone Else? Those Words That Escaped Your Treacherous Mouth Haunt Me And Turn My Happiest Thoughts Dark And Troubled. My Mind Can No longer Focus On Anything But You And This Obsticle That You've Placed In My Path. I Told You That I Loved You Today And Your Response Was, "I Love You To But Not As Much As Before." Will You Answer Me In Such A Mannor Everytime I Tell You Of My Love? Will I Be Plagued With Your Increasing Apathy Forever? Do You Even Care That This Is About You? The Words I Can't Express To You With My Voice, I Do In Ink. The Ink Is The Interpreter For The Deepest Crevices Of My Soul, And Yet I Don't Think You Realize It. How Can I Make You See How Much I Love You? How Can I Persuade You To Love Me Like Before? Is It All A Lost Cause? Do I Even Have A Chance Anymore? Everywhere I Turn There's Something There To Remind Me Of You. Wether It's A Note, Word, Smell, Or Even A Color. Something, Something Is Always There, Mocking Me. Laughing At How Desperate I Sound. How Ignorant I Really Am. This Problem Seems So Big, One I Know I'll Always Think About No Matter How Much Time Goes By. To The World Though, To The World It's Nothing. Everything Keeps Going Just Like I Don't Exist. I Feel Like The World Should Just Stop. Everything Just, Stop, But It Doesn't. It Shows Me How Insignificant My Problems And I Really Are. How Insignificant Every Individual Is To This World. Even You. Nothing Makes Sents Anymore. Not Even The Words I Type Now. I Know I Must Be Writing Something, But I Don't Truely See The Words. I Don't Truely Feel My Fingers Tape Out This Revealing Story Onto My Computer Screen. This Hellish Reality Is Fuzzy And Not Realistic At All. It All Feels Fake. Even The Emotions That Have Been Bottled Up For So Long, And Are Now Flowing Freely Into Writing. I'm Tired And Weathered. My Eyes Are Burning With The Burden Of Countless Sleepless Nights. I Try To Keep The Nightmares Away But They Come Even When I Lye Awake. You Were The Only Thing That Kept It All At Bay, But Now Your Reeling Them In. I Need The Aid Of Sleep For My Broken Eyes, So I Must Leave, But Only For A While. I'll Be Back To Explain So Much More First Thing In The Morning.