The sweetest dreams...have murdered me

As this tale of tragedy and woe unfold into utter boredom know that prolific writers are the poster childs of perversion and insanity, so before you crucify me and castrate my soul know that I am sorry for writing this and exposing the truth because, lets face it we love to loath our lives and we'd love to live our lies.

This blank page reflects my empty soul.  My tales of woe and tragedy have been translated into nothing?  Into something?  the translation that transcends.  Parasite to host.  Pay it foreward.  And now i'm empty inside until it returns to me with the battle scars of love and death, burned and bruised, torn and freyed.  But for now I will wait the empty vestle until we are reunited like lovers lost at war.